War Never Changes, But Hearts Do
by IcyMarble
Summary: You can fall in love or murder people. It's all fun and games here. You're in charge of the story, too. Based on the video game, Fallout: New Vegas. This is absolute torture to organize and write. But I love it.
1. Specially in New Vegas

There's a stale, empty building. Its concrete walls are crumbling, and the metal bars that once held it up with a sure confidence now wilt and rust and stick out at awkward angles. The building is bathed in a tired, orange sunrise, leaving the shady spots created by the rubble seemingly black and cold.

A thick layer of dust and ash floats in the sunlit air, the only movement in the room. Everything else is completely still and silent: though it isn't a dangerous or uncomfortable silence, but a natural one, as if the building had been doing the same, silent routine for years: it's been eroding—and, of course, decomposing.

Dead bodies—about eight of them, men and women alike—litter the ground. Their wide eyes are blank and stare dead-set on whatever is in front, the color absent from their faces, just like the paint on the walls that flaked off long ago. The bodies are fresh, and the blood's just begun to dry. Their skin's irritated and sickly-looking from the overuse of drug needles, and they wear scraps backed up by old metal from trash cans and large tribal-like skull helmets. One man has a meter-long spear stuck through his chest, and another woman has a bullet hole just between her eyes.

The bodies all reside together in the room, now in sync with the crumbling landscape.

Out of the full silence, a slow, steady 50's swing song approaches from a distance. Footsteps follow, though they aren't steady. Sometimes they're light, sometimes heavy, and sometimes gravel can be heard scratching against the concrete floor as if the person were dancing.

As the music draws closer, the steady swing of drums and trumpet, accompanied by cheerful whistling, echo through the empty space, bringing an eerie, casual ambiance to the deadly building.

A tall, muscular young woman rounds a corner, cheeks puckered and whistling. She has bright green hair that barely goes over her shoulders, flushed pink cheeks, a thin nose, and light brown eyes lined in black that peer behind dark shades. She wears a tight, dark green armored suit and tall leather boots. There's a large, heavy pack hanging onto her shoulders and a large belt with hooks and pockets hugging her hips, laden with grenades, C-4, knives, spears, pistols, any tool of death. An old radio with a lopsided antenna hangs loosely from a clip and bangs against her thigh every time she hops or steps to the music.

She whistles gleefully along with the man's low baritone on the radio and twirls a bloody machete around her finger. She hops over one dead body with a spear lodged in its chest, removes it with ease, and tucks it next to her collection.

She kicks another body aside and twirls around on her heels, avoiding a pool of blood.

The young woman, about twenty years of age, takes a large bottle of Sunset Sarsaparilla from her pack and pops the cap with her thumbnail. The soda sizzles and she tucks the cap away for later, then feverishly downs the bottle and drops it conclusively, wiping her lips. It clanks around, then settles next to a dead man's absent head.

Her eyes search the sunlit walls. On one side of a crumbling concrete slab, someone had graffitied the words:

 **WAR NEVER CHANGES**

The girl snorts with laughter, then kicks another limp body.

"Ain't that right, buddy?" She wiped the blood from her machete with a sleeve, "War never changes...'specially in New Vegas."

* * *

 **Please continue to the next chapter, Fox Handall.**


	2. Fox Handall

Fox Handall's sitting at the cheapest bar in town: the lights above are dirty and dim, the place smells of cigar smoke and dust, a bartender stands in front of a shelf of alcohol, cleaning a hazy yellow glass, occasionally wiping the countertop.

A man waddles over and sits heavily next to Fox. He's about fifty and wears spectacles that squeeze at his fleshy temples. His voice is low and grumbly, and the stool squeaks under his weight.

"Fox Handall." He greets, then coughs, "What's a guy like you doin' here? At a bar? You lookin' sad, bud."

Fox lifts his head. His jaw's sharp, his eyes green and soft, and his hair jet black like ink, combed to the side, one tuft of it leaning over his hairline. He's twenty-five—or something like that—but his face has a certain maturity to it, and small bits of unshaven stubble grow along his jaw. "Mourning. Wasted all my caps on the whores at Gomorrah and the slots at The Tops, Rich."

Rich shakes his head sadly, "You poor, poor soul."

Fox turns to the bartender and places three caps on the countertop, "Whiskey, please." Then solemnly watches them disappear into the rusty cash register. "Got only five caps left now."

Rich sighs and leans towards him, "Come on. You need to find other ways to solve your problems 'cept whores, gambling, an' whiskey. I know you can."

"You're right, I should just start doing Jet and Hydra and turn into one of those Fiend shits."

"Naw, Fox. Not that. Go do what you love."

The bartender places a small cup of the bright amber-colored drink in front of them. Fox snatches it and chugs it down, Rich watching with somber eyes. The cup slams back onto the table and Fox wipes his mouth conclusively. "The stuff I loved to do was shut down not too long ago."

Rich raises an eyebrow. Now this was getting somewhere.

Fox continues, "Got kicked outta The Kings gang, wasn't accepted into the Primm police force, turned down by the Great Khans, Merchants, guard jobs. Man, I was even thinking of joining The Legion."

"Well thank the Lord you didn't." Rich clasps his two pudgy hands together and peers curiously at him, "What issit that you love? An' what gotcha kicked outta The Kings an' turned down so many times? You done nothin' wrong."

His eyes squint and close from the anger and embarrassment. "One of the Kings' members went and framed me for raping one of their groupies."

Mumbling, Rich shook his head, "Oh Lord."

He buries his face in one of his hands, "Yep. Placed her lingerie on my floor and tied her up on my bed while I was out taking care of some thugs. Guy must've known the end of my shift and timed it perfectly so that no one was in the halls to see me walkin' down the hall to my dorm, and when I walked in she was already screaming."

Rich gives him a sympathetic pat on the back.

"The King was angry. Real angry. Told me to pack my things and leave. Word spread of the incident, probably why I've been turned down so many times." He sits up straight and looks at Rich sadly, "I wanna belong somewhere Rich. That's what I love: belonging. But I can't do that now. Been turned down too many times for that to happen anymore. When I came to New Vegas, I thought I could start fresh. Before I left my town, no one wanted anything to do with me. Now, it's the same. Nothing's changed!" He bangs the table with his fist in his drunken rage. The glasses on the surface teeter, and the bartender glances up. For a moment, the low hum of conversation is interrupted, and some heads turn.

Rich chooses his words carefully, as to not upset the red-faced gunslinger any further.

"Awe...Fox. Hope ain't gone yet. You c'n always wander the wastes, or be a prospector...Hey, you're good with guns an' the like, yea?"

Fox nods solemnly, his fist slowly unclenching. The familiar buzz of the bar returns. "Yea, I suppose."

Rich shifts his weight on the stool and it squeaks in protest.

"Just wan'er around! Cleanse New Vegas of its Fiends, animal abominations, an' ghouls! Go search for goodies hidden 'round. Lotsa people make a livin' offa that."

"Not the killing part, though."

"Well, yeah. That part's only for a select few, like you! Maybe you'll find another person who's in the same boat?"

Fox stares at the scratched wooden floorboards underneath the stool, "Very unlikely."

"But possible!" Rich tires smiling for his friend, who seems too sad and drunk to notice. He sighs and turns toward the bar, voice suddenly soft, "Fox...there's a war goin' on in your head right now. War's are violent, angry, tedious, brutal...but a war always ends, an' there's always those people and thoughts—those refugees pf your head—that're forgotten about. Don't matter if it's yer own war or the whole goddamn Nuclear War, because war—"

Suddenly Fox's hard growl cuts in. He speaks as if he were in a trance, and his eyes still stare blankly at the floor.

"War never changes."

Rich nods slowly, "Yea...'specially in New Vegas."

* * *

 **Please review the warning in the next chapter.**


	3. WARNING!

**WARNING!**

* * *

Alright, I have two things for you guys to watch out for. One, this story has some sexual scenes (only in a select few story paths, some are nice, some are not), but I try not to go into detail. There's also some violence and blood, whatever. And there's swearing, whatever. If you've played New Vegas it probably won't bother you at all, since the game literally includes every single one.

And here's the second thing to watch out for: since I'm not used to the FanFiction story format, I kinda made this a bit confusing and am working on making it clearer. It's confusing because you're faced with this:

* * *

 **CHOICE (example)**

Enter (Go to Chapter 8)

Leave (Go to Chapter 9)

* * *

Let's say you chose to enter. That means you're going to Chapter 8. But you may be thinking: Which one _is_ Chapter 8? Because this site lists the chapters in a numbered format, what you're faced with is either:

8\. Chapter 5

vs

11\. Chapter 8

* * *

Yes, I know, it's really annoying. The whole two introductory chapters (and this warning) really threw everything off. BUT, I know you guys're smart. Pick the one that says "Chapter 8" instead of the one that's numbered 8.

And that's how your story will roll, alright?

Happy trails!

* * *

 **To continue your story, go to Chapter 1**


	4. Chapter 1 CHOICE

The young, green-haired woman holds a large, smelly bag in front of an NCR man. Flies buzz around it and the bottom is soaked with blood.

The NCR man looks the bag up and down with disgust, then takes it reluctantly.

"This Driver Nephi's head?" He asks.

She nods.

He opens the bag, peeks in, then gags in disgust. "That's Driver Nephi alright. Didn't know he smelled so bad." He quickly shuts the bag, "Hey, thanks for killing those Fiends. Here's your pay." He places a small bag into the woman's hands, who smiles at the slight jingling of caps.

"Thank you." She says, then tucks the bag into her pack.

"Well, I can't think of any more bounties to give you...let's see...you got Violet's head, and Cook Cook's, and Driver Nephi's...can't think of any more. Congratulations! You've stumped me!"

The woman chuckles then holds out her hand, "I'm glad they're dead."

The NCR man accepts her hand and they shake on it.

"And I'm glad we got you serving us. Really, thank you."

"No problem."

"So what will you do now? I would offer you a position in the NCR, but I have a feeling you got other things to do."

She nods, "I'll be going back into the wasteland. But...I may make a stop in the Strip, wander through Freeside, that sort of thing. Haven't pampered myself in the casinos for a long while. Probably time I took a break. Got enough caps in my pocket."

The man chuckles. She sure looked like she needed a break. There're scratches all over her body, her face is bloody and dirty, and she smells of sweat; the typical condition of a weathered wastelander.

"Yea, you sure do. Ever been to The Tops casino? They've got a nice place. Good slots, good rooms, good bars. Guy named Benny runs the place. I hear he's an asshole, but he sure knows how to run a business. You should stay there, you would have a good time I think."

The woman nods and smiles, dimples imprinting her cheeks, "Thanks, I'll make sure to go there."

After a few last words of conversation, the woman walks away, towards the exit of Camp McCarran, a soft smile spread across her face.

Finally, after five grueling months in the Mojave, she gets her vacation! Soft, velvet couches, warm showers, feathery beds, gambling, fine alcohol, and those hot guys wandering Freeside—The Kings they call themselves—await her!

She eagerly quickens her pace and clicks the switch on her radio, and it buzzes on, playing a fine country song. Her wandering days are over, at least for now.

—

The woman stands giddily in front of The Tops front doors. The casino sure is a piece of work. Flashing neon lights dance around the building in her wondrous gaze.

As another wave of women in beautiful dresses and men in dapper tuxedos shuffle in, she decides it would be easier to move with traffic, so she shuffles along with the rest through the doors.

The interior is even more impressive. The joyful jingle of slot machines followed by the giddy cheers from gamblers ring in her ears. The massive casino is warmly lit, and there's that familiar scent of tobacco, alcohol and smoked Brahmin steak floating in the air.

The woman's about to continue forward before a man at the other end of the room calls out to her.

"Hey, doll! Mind if we store those weapons on ya?"

The woman looks up and sees the man over at the large, round desk. He's dressed in a formal gray suit, yet still takes pride in looking casual, since he kept the first four buttons of his blazer unbuttoned. He has a light Boston accent, which grows more prominent whenever he says the word 'doll.'

* * *

 **CHOICE**

Follow Rules (Go to Chapter 2)

Refuse to Give up Weapons (Go to Chapter 3)


	5. Chapter 2

**You Picked: Follow Rules**

* * *

"Oh, sure." She replies. Damn company rules.

"Nice 'n easy, just the way we like it."

A guard approaches with a large sack. "Weapons in here." He grunts and shakes it impatiently.

The woman sighs and quickly picks each and every knife, spear, C-4 pack, grenade and pistol out of her belt and drops them through, then moves onto the bigger weapons, which are in her pack.

Everyone from across the room has their eyes wide open as they watch her pluck out countless hunting rifles, laser pistols, double-barreled shotguns, and guns of every kind.

The man holding the sack struggles to keep it up, but the woman is relentless. She tosses in handfuls of frag grenades, then skillfully throws countless frag mines as if they were mere frisbees.

The people in the lobby watch in awe.

"What the hell's she got now?" Someone whispers.

The man with the sack gave up holding it out of courtesy when she pulled out a Missile Launcher.

* * *

 **To continue your story, go to Chapter 4**


	6. Chapter 3

**You Picked: Refuse to Give up Weapons**

* * *

A guard approaches with a large sack. "Weapons in here." He grunts and shakes the sack.

The woman eyes him, and her arms fold.

"I'm not giving up my weapons."

The man with the sack grumbles then gives his boss a look of annoyance.

The man with the Boston accent, in turn, folds his arms. "I'm afraid you're goin' to have to, doll. If you wanna get in." The flash of a pistol in his inside pocket gave her warning enough.

She growls.

The man with the sack gives her a warning stare, repeating harshly, "Weapons in here."

The Bostonian calls out to her, "Let's not make a scene, right, doll?" He moves his jacket aside and shows a shining pistol.

After giving the two men a stiff glare, she reluctantly picks each and every knife, spear, C-4 pack, grenade and pistol out of her belt and drops them through, then moves onto the bigger weapons, which are in her pack. Luckily, however, she kept the backup knife in her boot, and none of the men noticed.

Everyone from across the room has their eyes wide open as they watch her pluck out countless hunting rifles, laser pistols, double-barreled shotguns, and guns of every kind.

The man holding the sack struggles to keep it up, but the woman's relentless. She tosses in handfuls of frag grenades, then skillfully throws countless frag mines as if they were mere frisbees.

The people in the lobby watch in awe.

"What the hell's she got now?" Someone whispers.

The man with the sack gave up holding it out of courtesy when she pulled out a Missile Launcher.

* * *

 **To continue your story, go to Chapter 4**


	7. Chapter 4 CHOICE

Fox tucks one of his revolvers into his boot. He's getting ready to move on from sleeping behind the Atomic Wrangler in the filth next to a dumpster. It's time for something new, something different from all the recent shit he's been receiving.

Rich was right. He should travel to the wasteland, get himself a better reputation.

Fox is almost ready to head out into the Mojave, but he's missing only one thing: his rabbit's foot necklace.

Just after he got kicked out of The Kings, and when he still had caps, he rented a casino room in The Strip. When he left, he forgot it at The Tops casino. Fox sighs. He's going to have to deal with Benny.

* * *

 **CHOICE**

Get rabbit's foot (Chapter 5)

Don't need it (Chapter 6)


	8. Chapter 5

**You Picked: Get Rabbit's foot**

* * *

Fox rubs his neck. He feels incomplete without that necklace. His father had given it to him.

He remembers that day as if it were standing right in front of him, staring him in the face.

It was 2270. He was only six, and his father had gone hunting and brought back the severed mutated rabbit foot, all bloody and torn, just for him. He'd screamed and cried and cried and cried for hours on end, hidden beneath the sheets of his bed, weeping for that poor rabbit, who probably had a mom and dad, a lover, and children just like him of its own. He refused to eat the rabbit stew that night and demanded that his father throw the foot away. But he didn't, and told Fox that when he was ready, he was free to wear it, and kept it on a string, mounted over the house fan. For six whole years Fox avoided it, but one day, when he was twelve and just learned how to shoot a bottle off a fence post with a revolver, he'd ran inside and thrown the necklace over his head, and the moment that foot fell over his neckline, he felt he was worth something.

And even if he would die in the Mojave with no caps on him, no gun at his side, rationless, no supplies, stripped naked, at least the prospectors could take his rabbit's foot, and he wouldn't just be another worthless pile of bones lost to the wind-swept desert.

With a re-lit fire in his eyes, Fox continues down the broken road of Freeside, towards The Strip, its twinkling neon lights flickering in his pupils.

* * *

 **To continue your story, go to Chapter 7**


	9. Chapter 6

**You Picked: Don't need it**

* * *

Fox grunts and turns down the street. He didn't need that rabbit's foot, even though his father had given it to him when he was only six. It's merely a severed foot on a string, it has no other use than that. A silly decoration.

He quickens his stride down the crumbling pavement of Freeside. Thank God, he wouldn't have to deal with Benny.

* * *

 **To continue your story, go to Chapter 7**


	10. Chapter 7 CHOICE

The young woman rifles through a wardrobe full of clothing and pulls out a small, skimpy leopard-print nightgown. She holds it up to her naked, newly-washed figure, swings her hips this way and that, then checks the tag.

 _Naughty Nightwear_

 _Courtesy of The Tops Casino_

The woman sighs and tosses it onto her bed. She most likely won't be using these anytime soon. Not with any partner, for that matter.

She pulls out another gown, pink this time.

 _Sexy Sleepwear_

 _Courtesy of The Tops Casino_

This was more like it. Shooting a Legion man's head off with a Hunting Shotgun in some sexy lingerie was on her bucket list. That'd show The Legion who they were up against- a tough, fine woman who still looked perfect covered in their blood.

She slides into the gown and smiles into the mirror. It fit perfectly.

After trying on one of her best dresses, she walks out the door and makes her way downstairs, where the happy jingling of slot machines ring distantly, beckoning her.

A couple smiling in each other's faces and holding hands pass her, and once they got to the nearest room, the man grabs his girl and they smooch and slurp at each other's mouths, then disappear through the door.

The woman continues down the steps, slightly shaken from the encounter. How long had it been since she'd kissed someone? Five years? She's young, only twenty, and her first kiss was given to some hormonal boy in a broken-down schoolhouse. Hell, the Wastes hadn't even given her enough time to lose her virginity.

The satisfying sound of her heels on polished tile wakes her from her train of thought.

Cigarette smoke hangs and swirls into the air like a daydream. There's a slow song on the radio echoing across the massive casino hall. Men and women laugh over clinking glasses and game cards.

A smile blooms on her face. This is heaven compared to those countless, sleepless nights pissing in sand, shitting in holes, living off of dry maize and boxes of stale cram. She has hot and cold running water now, good food, good booze, and a soft bed with cushions and sheets and blankets and pillows. It's simply heaven.

With a newfound confidence, she struts over to a bar and delicately lowers herself down onto a stool, like a lady.

The smiling bartender comes over, all dressed up in a tux and bow tie. He cleans out a sparkling glass and asks, "Can I get you anythin', miss?"

She smiles and leans forward over the counter, "Oh, yes. I would like..." She thinks for a moment. What would a lady order? What would her mother have ordered? "...Wine. Wine, please."

The bartender smiles and gets to work on her drink. "Good choice." He calls.

Her heart flutters. She's doing good!

The tall glass of wine appears in front of her in no time, and the bartender winks, "Here you are, miss."

Flattered, she blushes and cradles the glass in her palm, as a lady would have done. She wants to give the guy a good kiss on the cheek, something, anything, so she pops three caps on the table instead.

The bartender smiles and they're tucked into the cash register.

Drink in hand, she sits back and lets the casino sing in her ears.

Slot machines ding and laughs trail over the hazy air. Chandeliers twinkle and glasses clink. She could even hear the dice roll over the green casino tables and thumbs flick lighters into flame.

The wine's good. Real good. It had been well-aged, alright. The only good thing the Nuclear War brought was good alcohol that'd been aged for decades in the wastes. So she gets the bartender to fill her glass again. And again. And again. And again until the world around her is fuzzy and the sounds she was once so keen to now garbled and apart of an incessant buzz.

Right next to her, she notices a tattered man sit and hunch over the counter. He smells of urine and dirt, his clothes stained in both.

At first, he turns to two men smoking and conversing casually, but they turn him away. His head lowers, then slowly turns to her. He's a ghoul.

His face is torn and flaky, battered from radiation. His voice struggles to form a raspy whisper, "Do you have caps to spare? For a drink?" He coughs, "I just need...anything. Water, anything."

* * *

 **CHOICE**

Turn Him Away (Go to Chapter 8)

Buy Him a Drink (Go to Chapter 9)


	11. Chapter 8 IMPORTANT

**You Picked: Turn Him Away**

* * *

The woman gives him the same cold glare she gave the guard at the entrance.

Her voice was meant to be polite, but it comes out more vicious than anything, "I don't waste caps on filth."

He moves back a bit and his eyes droop, avoiding her razor-sharp gaze, "Oh, sorry, miss..." A coughing fit takes over and he leaves with his head craned to the floor and tears welling in his red eyes.

The woman sighs and sits against the bar. The rim of the cup touches her cold lips, and the violet wine enters her veins like blood itself.

There're strict rules to the wasteland: every man for himself, and she's never broken them. Not even when a desperate man needed water.

He could die for all she cared.

* * *

 **Okay, so this is where the stories mostly split. Before I could just send you to the same sort of chapter and continue it from there, but that's not how it's going to be anymore. So, you ready to do some thinking? Choosing your next chapter is going to be a bit complicated. I hope I've made it a bit clearer here.**

 **Continuing your story depends on some factors. If you've forgotten some of the choices you made you can always go back to the earlier chapters. I'll mark in the titles where the choices are. I've also made a Story Insignia, which will show up in the titles, too, and help guide you through your individual journey. Some will evolve over time.**

 **If you:**

 **\- Followed the Rules at the entrance and had Fox go after his Rabbit's Foot, go to Chapter 14**

 _This Story Insignia is: **&**_

 **\- Didn't go after the Rabbit's Foot, go to Chapter 15**

 _This Story Insignia is: **(**_

 **\- Refused to Give up your Weapons at the entrance and had Fox go after his Rabbit's Foot, go to Chapter 16**

 _This Story Insignia is: **& &**_


	12. Chapter 9 IMPORTANT

**You Picked: Buy Him a Drink**

* * *

Her gaze softens. There're rules to the wasteland she's so used to living in; every man for himself. This meant no free stuff. Period.

But this man- she had to have mercy on him; he was desperate and lonely and sad. Plus she had a soft spot for ghouls. Once, when her camp was raided by some exceptionally frivolous Great Khans and she was left bound by rope in a cave infested with Mole Rats, a ghoul heard her muffled yells and got her out. He could have just walked by, left her as a nibbling post, but he didn't.

And all this guy needed was a little water.

Her lips lift into a bright smile. "Sure."

The bartender saunters over, "This guy givin' you any trouble, miss?" He eyes him as if he's a feral tearing her into pieces.

She sets her glass down and giggles, "No, of course not." Her hands dig into the small coin bag and scrape up three more caps. They jingle like bells as they spill onto the countertop, "Wine, please." The ghoul's face lights up brighter than The Tops itself.

The bartender's pressed eyebrows release. He smirks and nods lightly in the ghoul's direction, "Alright."

The ghoul holds the wine glass as if it were the Holy Grail itself. He tips it over his cracked lips and the wine spills down his pumping Adam's apple and onto his tattered clothes.

The woman laughs, and the bartender awkwardly stares, then goes back to cleaning some cups in the back.

"You sure're thirsty." She says as he sets it down.

His back's straight now, and the desperate look's been replaced with sincere gratitude and refreshment. His veiny eyes meet hers, "You cannot believe what you've done for me...Thank you. I was about to die of thirst, I swear." He laughs weakly, "I'd shake your hand, but I'm sure you wouldn't like that..." He glances down at his cracked hands.

But her hand is already out for him to shake, "It's not like it's contagious." She gives him another warm smile, "I've touched worse anyways."

"You are the nicest woman I've met." He pauses to wipe his eyes, then accepts, "I'm Eric."

"Nice ta meetcha, Eric."

Eric gingerly swings around on his seat to face the counter, "Ladies dressed as fancy and as pretty as you usually don't have time for guys like me."

"Oh, that's just because it's usually true. I got this dress wandering the wastes. Kept it in good condition." Her fingers gently caressed the brown fabric of her Pre-War relaxed wear. It buttoned up to the collar and came with a tight black leather belt that hugged her waist and a shiny pair of black heels: the only thing that made her feel like a woman in this apocalypse.

"You're one of the only ladies I've seen that look good in a brown dress, you know that? Goes well with your green hair stuff. Reminds me of nature in a way. Like before the War."

She blushes slightly, "Oh, thank you."

As the bartender gets to work cleaning his cup, Eric stands up and bows low, "I don't know how I'll ever repay you. I hope you can forgive me- I have to go. My shift starts in a few."

"Oh, absolutely. Where do you work?"

His eyes trail the floor, as if ashamed, "Gomorrah. I-I had to, really. I'm paying off a debt. My son...he needed medicine from The Strip. I had to pay to get in and pay for the medicine. It's the only way to get out of the hole I'm in." He gulps down a breath, "I hate it."

Then he leaves her with the words, "Hope we meet again, friend."

* * *

 **Okay, so this is where the stories mostly split. Before I could just send you to the same sort of chapter and continue it from there, but that's not how it's going to be anymore. So, you ready to do some thinking? Choosing your next chapter is going to be a bit complicated. I hope I've made it a bit clearer here.**

 **Continuing your story depends on some factors. If you've forgotten some of the choices you made you can always go back to the earlier chapters. I'll mark in the titles where the choices are. I've also made a Story Insignia, which will show up in the titles, too, and help guide you through your individual journey. Some will evolve over time.**

 **If you:**

 **\- Followed the Rules at the entrance and had Fox go after his Rabbit's Foot, go to Chapter 10**

 _This Story Insignia is: **!**_

 **\- Refused to Give up your Weapons at the entrance and had Fox go after his Rabbit's Foot, go to Chapter 11**

 _This Story Insignia is: **?**_

 **\- Followed the Rules at the entrance and didn't go after the Rabbit's Foot, go to Chapter 12**

 _This Story Insignia is: **'**_

 **\- Refused to Give up your Weapons at the entrance and didn't go after the Rabbit's Foot, go to Chapter 13**

 _This Story Insignia is: **-**_


	13. Chapter 10 !

**[Scroll to the bottom of your last Chapter (either Chapter 8 or 9, depending on where you came from) for instructions, just to make sure you're on the right track** **—** **trust me, you wouldn't want to be lost in this wasteland, would you?]**

* * *

After Eric leaves the woman sits in silence for a few minutes, then goes to wander the casino hall: watch gamblers grumble or cheer, people mill about, guards stare at the wall. She has a slight temptation to go use one of the flashing slot machines, but her coin bag feels dangerously light. Getting a room for two days in this casino is expensive, and all those drinks she'd bought did a lot of the work draining her money.

Her fingers instinctively snatch the coin bag and fumble around until she realizes what's in it: nothing. No caps, just dust and air.

A surge of embarrassment and worry rush red into her cheeks. She still owes the casino money. She still has to pay for her second night.

She has exactly 197 caps she'd counted and kept track of back in her suite...but another night cost 200 caps.

She holds her head and lowers herself into a chair. She spent her last bit of money on Eric...

"Hey, what're you doing flapping that empty coin bag around?"

The first thing she sees is a black and white checkered suit, like something you'd play a game of chess on, then she sees a man. He's got slick-backed hair and a 24-carrot smile, perfectly white teeth- too perfect as if they were washed in chrome. Two guards armed with silenced .22 SMGs stand, bulky and tough, a few meters away.

"Name's Benny."

She gives him a long stare as if she'd been caught stealing, "...Oh, hi, Benny."

He leans against the table and looks her over from the sly corner of his eye, arms folded.

"You're smart not to be gamblin', cause," he whispers, "game was rigged from the start." He chuckles to himself, "But there are more games going on here than you think, baby." He glances at the empty bag, "An' I think you just got outplayed by alcohol."

She turns redder than a cherry.

His eyes move over her again and he takes in a deep, satisfactory breath of air, "Mind if I collect your second day rent now?"

She just stares blankly at the floor.

He chuckles, "You can't pay for it. Yeah, I can tell. Been doing business for as long as I can remember. I can smell the fear in even the most powerful men when they've been beat. And here and now, it smells like alcohol. Wait, and...what is that?" His eyebrows press together, "Awe, baby. You were a bit too nice to someone, right? You smell like charitable giving. Ugh, one of my least favorite things. No wonder you're in the hole."

"I could sell some of my rations to the bar for caps—"

He steps off the table and halts her with an arm, "Naw, baby. You're sticking with me. No caps, no payment. But not all deals have to be settled through caps, you know."

Her eyes meet his. "What is it."

His lips curl into another smile, "Come on by my suite at nine tonight. There I'll offer you some compensation. You dig?"

"Off to no good, Benny?"

Benny turns faster than a fire gecko after a giant mantis.

There's a tall man leaning against the wall behind them with sharp green eyes that flicker over to the woman, who freezes in her seat.

"Look who it is, the guy who went broke," Benny grumbles. "Hey, Fox."

"You preying on a girl like her now? That's not your style."

It really wasn't. Usually, Benny didn't make passes at random girls wandering the casino hall. Something about this one broad really got him goin'.

Benny shifts his weight from one foot to the other, "Oh, I'm not preying on the helpless. I don't prey."

She hisses at Benny, and a part of her wastelander-self shows through the tidy dress and lipstick, "You callin' me helpless?"

Fox's muscles show through his white cotton sleeves, "I'm not saying she's helpless, Benny. I'm saying you should be careful. She's got a dangerous look about her."

Benny glances in her direction, then lifts an eyebrow, "What?"

"You're not as smart as you make yourself out to be. She may be in the hole, but you might as well be in a grave if you keep bein' this foolhardy."

Benny straightens his jacket, "You're pretty foolhardy to be sayin' that to me here and now."

"Not as foolhardy as you, approchin' a girl like that and saying those things."

Benny narrows his eyes, "What do you want?"

"I've lost something, and I know about your lost and found policy."

A smirk slithers through Benny's lips, "Oh, we're talkin' business? Perfect."

"I'm not payin' 100 caps for something I've lost."

"Well, then you ain't getting it back."

Fox nods to the woman and smiles, "How about I pay the same way she's payin'? Apparently whatever you're offering her as compensation is worth 200 caps."

Benny folds his arms, "You know that ain't going to work. 100 caps or your little trinket ain't going to be yours."

"I see. Well, I got my answer anyways: you're a cheap asshole." He gives both of them a quick nod and disappears.

Benny turns back to her, "Huh. He's just as desperate as you are. This'll prove to be interesting." He knocks on her table, "Remember, 9 pm tonight, baby."

Then he leaves, and the woman's once again left by herself. Her fingers grip the empty bag, and she whispers, "Dear Lord, what have I gotten myself into?"

But her thoughts trail back to Fox—that was his name, apparently—and boy, he sure was a fox. He stood out from the crowd like a sore thumb—and a good looking thumb at that.

Oh, what was she thinking? This wasn't like her. Crushing on someone she wasn't supposed to would get her killed. Especially in New Vegas.

* * *

 **To continue your story, go to Chapter 17**


	14. Chapter 11 ?

**[Scroll to the bottom of your last Chapter (either Chapter 8 or 9, depending on where you came from) for instructions, just to make sure you're on the right track** **—** **trust me, you wouldn't want to be lost in this wasteland, would you?]**

* * *

After Eric leaves the woman sits in silence for a few minutes, then goes to wander the casino hall: watch gamblers grumble or cheer, people mill about, guards stare at the wall. She has a slight temptation to go use one of the flashing slot machines, but her coin bag feels dangerously light. Getting a room for two days in this casino is expensive, and all those drinks she'd bought did a lot of the work draining her money.

Her fingers instinctively snatch the coin bag and fumble around until she realizes what's in it: nothing. No caps, just dust and air.

A surge of embarrassment and worry rush red into her cheeks. She still owes the casino money. She still has to pay for her second night.

She has exactly 197 caps she'd counted and kept track of back in her suite...but another night cost 200 caps.

She holds her head and lowers herself into a chair. She spent her last bit of money on Eric...

"Hey, what're you doing flapping that empty coin bag around?"

The first thing she sees is a black and white checkered suit, like something you'd play a game of chess on, then she sees a man. He's got slick-backed hair and a 24-carrot smile, perfectly white teeth—too perfect as if they were washed in chrome. Two guards armed with silenced .22 SMGs stand, bulky and tough, a few meters away. She feels the sharp combat knife hidden underneath her skirt.

"Name's Benny."

She gives him a long stare, "...Oh, hi, Benny."

He leans against the table and looks her over from the sly corner of his eye, arms folded.

"You're smart not to be gamblin', cause," He whispers, "Truth is, game was rigged from the start." He chuckles to himself, "But there are more games going on here than you think, baby." He glances at the empty bag, "An' I think you just got outplayed by alcohol."

She turns redder than a cherry. It's mostly from anger.

His eyes move over her again and he takes in a deep, satisfactory breath of air, "Mind if I collect your second day rent now?"

She just stares blankly at him.

He chuckles, "You can't pay for it. Yeah, I can tell. Been doing business for as long as I can remember. I can smell the fear in even the most powerful men when they've been beat. And here and now, it smells like alcohol. Wait, and...what is that?" His eyebrows press together, "Awe, baby. You were a bit too nice to someone, right? You smell like charitable giving. Ugh, one of my least favorite things. No wonder you're in the hole."

She keeps back a growl, "I can sell some of my rations to the bar for caps—"

He steps off the table and halts her with an arm, "Naw, baby. You're sticking with me. No caps, no payment. But not all deals have to be settled through caps, you know."

Her eyes meet his. "What is it."

His lips curl into another smile, "Come on by my suite at nine tonight. There I'll offer you some compensation. You dig?"

"Off to no good, Benny?"

Benny turns faster than a fire gecko after a giant mantis.

There's a tall man leaning against the wall behind them with sharp green eyes that instantly flicker over to the woman, who instantly freezes in her seat.

"Look who it is, the guy who went broke," Benny grumbles. "Hey, Fox."

"You preying on a girl like her now? That's not your style."

It really wasn't. Usually, Benny didn't make passes at random girls wandering the casino hall. Something about this one broad really got him goin'.

Benny shifts his weight from one foot to the other, "Oh, I'm not preying on the helpless. I don't prey."

She hisses, "You callin' me helpless?"

Fox's muscles show through his white cotton sleeves, "I'm not saying she's helpless. I'm saying you should be careful. She's got a dangerous look about her."

Benny glances in her direction, then lifts an eyebrow, "What?"

"You're not as smart as you make yourself out to be. She may be in the hole, but you might as well be in a grave if you keep bein' this foolhardy."

Benny straightens his jacket, "You're pretty foolhardy to be sayin' that to me here and now."

"Not as foolhardy as you, approchin' a girl like that and saying those things."

Benny narrows his eyes, "What do you want?"

"I've lost something, and I know about your lost and found policy."

A smirk slithers through Benny's lips, "Oh, we're talkin' business? Perfect."

"I'm not payin' 100 caps for something I've lost."

"Well, then you ain't getting it back."

Fox nods to the woman and smiles, "How about I pay the same way she's payin'? Apparently whatever you're offering her as compensation is worth 200 caps."

Benny folds his arms, "You know that ain't going to work. 100 caps or your little trinket ain't going to be yours."

"I see. Well I got my answer anyways: you're a cheap asshole." He gives both of them a quick nod and saunters away.

Benny turns back to her, "Huh. He's just as desperate as you are. This'll prove to be interesting." He knocks on her table, "Remember, 9pm tonight, baby."

Then he leaves, and the woman's once again left by herself. Her fingers slide across the imprint of the combat knife underneath her dress, and she whispers, "Yeah, 9pm tonight and you'll get shanked."

But her thoughts trail back to Fox—that was his name, apparently—and boy, he sure was a fox. He stood out from the crowd like a sore thumb—and a good looking thumb at that.

No. What was she thinking? This wasn't like her. Crushing on someone she wasn't supposed to would get her killed. Especially in New Vegas.

* * *

 **To continue your story, go to Chapter 18**


	15. Chapter 12 '

**[Scroll to the bottom of your last Chapter (either Chapter 8 or 9, depending on where you came from) for instructions, just to make sure you're on the right track** **—** **trust me, you wouldn't want to be lost in this wasteland, would you?]**

* * *

After Eric leaves the woman sits in silence for a few minutes, then goes to wander the casino hall: watch gamblers grumble or cheer, people mill about, guards stare at the wall. She has a slight temptation to go use one of the flashing slot machines, but her coin bag feels dangerously light. Getting a room for two days in this casino is expensive, and all those drinks she'd bought did a lot of the work draining her money.

Her fingers instinctively snatch the coin bag and fumble around until she realizes what's in it: nothing. No caps, just dust and air.

A surge of embarrassment and worry rush red into her cheeks. She still owes the casino money. She still has to pay for her second night.

She has exactly 197 caps she'd counted and kept track of back in her suite...but another night cost 200 caps.

She holds her head and lowers herself into a chair. She spent her last bit of money on Eric...

"Hey, what're you doing flapping that empty coin bag around?"

The first thing she sees is a black and white checkered suit, like something you'd play a game of chess on, then she sees a man. He's got slick-backed hair and a 24-carrot smile, perfectly white teeth—too perfect as if they were washed in chrome. Two guards armed with silenced .22 SMGs stand, bulky and tough, a few meters away.

"Name's Benny."

She gives him a long stare as if she'd been caught stealing, "...Oh, hi, Benny."

He leans against the table and looks her over from the sly corner of his eye, arms folded.

"You're smart not to be gamblin', cause," He whispers, "Truth is, game was rigged from the start." He chuckles to himself, "But there are more games going on here than you think, baby." He glances at the empty bag, "An' I think you just got outplayed by alcohol."

She turns redder than a cherry.

His eyes move over her again and he takes in a deep, satisfactory breath of air, "Mind if I collect your second day rent now?"

She just stares blankly at the floor.

He chuckles, "You can't pay for it. Yeah, I can tell. Been doing business for as long as I can remember. I can smell the fear in even the most powerful men when they've been beat. And here and now, it smells like alcohol. Wait, and...what is that?" His eyebrows press together, "Awe, baby. You were a bit too nice to someone, right? You smell like charitable giving. Ugh, one of my least favorite things. No wonder you're in the hole."

She swallows hard, then turns out of her chair, "I could sell some of my rations to the bar for caps—"

He steps off the table and halts her with an arm, "Naw, baby. You're sticking with me. No caps, no payment. But not all deals have to be settled through caps, you know."

Her eyes meet his. "What is it."

His lips curl into another smile, "Come on by my suite at nine tonight. There I'll offer you some compensation. You dig?"

Her small fingers grip the empty bag. Now she's really in the hole, and who knew what lengths the Tops would go to collect her debt. Assassination, kidnapping, whatever. The casinos in The Strip make their own laws and abide by no ethics. She's got to do something to pay them back.

Her eyes stare blankly at the table and she nods solemnly.

"Alright."

* * *

 **To continue your story, go to Chapter 19**


	16. Chapter 13 -

**[Scroll to the bottom of your last Chapter (either Chapter 8 or 9, depending on where you came from) for instructions, just to make sure you're on the right track** **—** **trust me, you wouldn't want to be lost in this wasteland, would you?]**

* * *

After Eric leaves the woman sits in silence for a few minutes, then goes to wander the casino hall: watch gamblers grumble or cheer, people mill about, guards stare at the wall. She has a slight temptation to go use one of the flashing slot machines, but her coin bag feels dangerously light. Getting a room for two days in this casino is expensive, and all those drinks she'd bought did a lot of the work draining her money.

Her fingers instinctively snatch the coin bag and fumble around until she realizes what's in it: nothing. No caps, just dust and air.

A surge of embarrassment and worry rush red into her cheeks. She still owes the casino money. She still has to pay for her second night.

She has exactly 197 caps she'd counted and kept track of back in her suite...but another night cost 200 caps.

She holds her head and lowers herself into a chair. She spent her last bit of money on Eric...

"Hey, what're you doing flapping that empty coin bag around?"

The first thing she sees is a black and white checkered suit, like something you'd play a game of chess on, then she sees a man. He's got slick-backed hair and a 24-carrot smile, perfectly white teeth—too perfect as if they were washed in chrome. Two guards armed with silenced .22 SMGs stand, bulky and tough, a few meters away. She feels the sharp combat knife hidden underneath her skirt.

"Name's Benny."

She gives him a long stare, "...Oh, hi, Benny."

He leans against the table and looks her over from the sly corner of his eye, arms folded.

"You're smart not to be gamblin', cause," He whispers, "Truth is, game was rigged from the start." He chuckles to himself, "But there are more games going on here than you think, baby." He glances at the empty bag, "An' I think you just got outplayed by alcohol."

She turns redder than a cherry. It's mostly from anger.

His eyes move over her again and he takes in a deep, satisfactory breath of air, "Mind if I collect your second day rent now?"

She just stares blankly at him.

He chuckles, "You can't pay for it. Yeah, I can tell. Been doing business for as long as I can remember. I can smell the fear in even the most powerful men when they've been beat. And here and now, it smells like alcohol. Wait, and...what is that?" His eyebrows press together, "Awe, baby. You were a bit too nice to someone, right? You smell like charitable giving. Ugh, one of my least favorite things. No wonder you're in the hole."

She keeps back a growl, "I could sell some of my rations to the bar for caps—"

He steps off the table and halts her with an arm, "Naw, baby. You're sticking with me. No caps, no payment. But not all deals have to be settled through caps, you know."

Her eyes meet his. "What is it."

His lips curl into another smile, "Come on by my suite at nine tonight. There I'll offer you some compensation. You dig?"

 _I'll dig your grave._

He knocks on her table, "Remember, 9pm tonight, baby."

Then he leaves, and the woman's once again left by herself. Her fingers slide across the imprint of the combat knife underneath her dress, and she whispers, "Yeah, 9pm tonight and you'll get shanked."

* * *

 **To continue your story, go to Chapter 20**


	17. Chapter 14 &

**[Scroll to the bottom of your last Chapter (either Chapter 8 or 9, depending on where you came from) for instructions, just to make sure you're on the right track** **—** **trust me, you wouldn't want to be lost in this wasteland, would you?]**

* * *

She leaves the bar to go admire the scenery. Some gamblers give her passing looks: they can sense she's out of place. Maybe it's the constant hard gleam in her eyes that sets her apart, or her steady stance that'd been perfected for combat.

But she feels something's off: there's one pair of eyes that won't stop staring, somewhere in the casino. She can feel it, and her feeling only grows stronger as the times passes.

"Hey, baby."

She turns to face a black and white checkered suit, like something you'd play a game of chess on, then she sees the man in it. He's got slicked-back hair and a 24-carrot smile, perfect teeth—too perfect, as if washed in chrome. Two guards armed with silenced .22 SMGs stand, bulky and tough, a few meters away.

"Name's Benny. You know, you're lookin' like a fine broad in that dress." His mouth was used to admiring the whores he spent nights with in his room, so nothing he said deviated from a flirtatious compliment. "You're also one of the few broads I know who can pull the plasma-green hair off. And a brown dress, too, come to think of it."

She's leaning against the railing and can feel him glance at her backside.

The guards exchange glances. Usually the boss isn't so set on making a pass at women wandering the casino halls: he had his hookers. But something about this one gal really got him goin'.

"You likin' this place so far?"

She feels his eyes slide up and down her figure.

"Oh, I like it lots." She stares down at the floor tiling.

He smirks, as if in victory, "Yeah? Well, I run this place, baby."

God, if only she had a gun...

"Oh, really? Well I'll be. The owner of The Tops."

—

Fox finally finds that rat at the other end of the casino, chattin' up a gal with bright green hair. Her eyes instantly lift to his, and she smiles. She's obviously not interested in whatever Benny has to say. Score.

He makes his way over to the guards and tells them he's got business to talk with Benny. That always gets their attention.

One moves over to the boss and taps his shoulder.

"You wanna get- Hey, what're you doin'? What is it that requires my immediate attention, you asshole?"

The guard sticks his thumb over his shoulder at Fox.

"Says he wants to talk business, boss."

Benny steps around the girl and glares at Fox.

"Look who it is. Guy who went broke." He pauses, "Hey, Fox."

Fox crosses his arms, where muscles show through cotton white fabric, "Hey."

"I'm guessing you're coming back for that trinket of yours?"

"Yep."

"You know my lost and found policy-"

"100 caps to browse the lost and found? Yeah, I don't think so."

"Then I'm afraid you ain't getting that back."

Fox sighs, "What a shame. Well, I guess I've learned one thing from this trip: you're a cheap asshole."

The girl cracks a snicker, to which Benny frowns.

Fox gives her a smile, then leaves.

She blushes hard. Real hard. Her cheeks're no more than two glowing cherries.

Fox- that was his name, apparently. Boy, he sure was a fox. He stood out from the crowd like a sore thumb—and a good looking thumb at that.

Oh, what was she thinking? This wasn't like her. Crushing on someone she wasn't supposed to would get her killed. Especially in New Vegas.

* * *

 **To continue your story, go to Chapter 21**


	18. Chapter 15 (

**[Scroll to the bottom of your last Chapter (either Chapter 8 or 9, depending on where you came from) for instructions, just to make sure you're on the right track** **—** **trust me, you wouldn't want to be lost in this wasteland, would you?]**

* * *

She leaves the bar to go admire the scenery. Some gamblers give her passing looks: they can sense she's out of place. Maybe it's the constant hard gleam in her eyes that sets her apart, or her steady stance that'd been perfected for combat.

But she feels something's off: there's one pair of eyes that won't stop staring, somewhere in the casino. She can feel it, and her feeling only grows stronger as the times passes.

"Hey, baby."

She turns to face a black and white checkered suit, like something you'd play a game of chess on, then she sees the man in it. He's got slicked-back hair and a 24-carrot smile, perfect teeth—too perfect as if washed in chrome. Two guards armed with silenced .22 SMGs stand, bulky and tough, a few meters away.

"Name's Benny. You know, you're lookin' like a fine broad in that dress." His mouth was used to admiring the whores he spent nights with in his room, so nothing he said deviated from a flirtatious compliment. "You're also one of the few broads I know who can pull the plasma-green hair off. And a brown dress, too, come to think of it."

She's leaning against the railing and can feel him glance at her backside.

The guards exchange glances. Usually, the boss isn't so set on making a pass at women wandering the casino halls: he had his hookers. But something about this one gal really got him goin'.

"You likin' this place so far?"

She feels his eyes slide up and down her figure.

"Oh, I like it lots." She stares down at the floor tiling.

He smirks, as if in victory, "Yeah? Well, I run this place, baby."

God, if only she had a gun...

"Oh, really? Well I'll be. The owner of The Tops. "

"That's right, baby. Probably the best businessmen in The Strip. I do all sorts of it, every kind you can imagine. And I'm good at it, too." He smirks slyly.

 _Good at overpricing your rooms, too._

She picks at her nails, but they're strangely clean from the shower; no dirt under them, completely washed from dirt. She sort of misses the feeling of scraping it out when she's bored.

"So, where you from?" He leans on the bar rest next to her. "You don't look like you're from The Strip." He laughs, "Let me guess—NCR takin' another booze break? You guys are all over the place here." He lifts a finger, "Wait—maybe you're from Novac?"

"I'm from the wastes"

"The wasteland?" He's a bit surprised for a moment but quickly regains his smirk, "Oh, no. That makes sense now. That's right—you and those muscles, those hard eyes...Always loved a tough girl. Do you like a slick guy yourself?" He slid a hand through his hair.

It took him about twelve more minutes of flirting to realize she wasn't interested.

After telling her he had more important things to go do, he watches her curving figure stride away in that brown dress, tight in all the right places, her heels clicking sharply on the tile floor.

She didn't mind his rudeness. People whose focus was only on her body didn't catch her eye. She wanted someone who could handle a gun and a good punch to the gut, someone who'd been dragged through the dirt and mud but still returned victorious, someone who'd seen the deepest horrors of the world but still had faith.

In short, someone fit for the nuclear apocalypse.

* * *

 **To continue your story, go to Chapter 22**


	19. Chapter 16 & &

**[Scroll to the bottom of your last Chapter (either Chapter 8 or 9, depending on where you came from) for instructions, just to make sure you're on the right track** **—** **trust me, you wouldn't want to be lost in this wasteland, would you?]**

* * *

She leaves the bar to go admire the scenery. Some gamblers give her passing looks: they can sense she's out of place. Maybe it's the constant hard gleam in her eyes that sets her apart or her steady stance that'd been perfected for combat.

But she feels something's off: there's one pair of eyes that won't stop staring, somewhere in the casino. She can feel it, and her feeling only grows stronger as the times passes.

"Hey, baby."

She turns to face a black and white checkered suit, like something you'd play a game of chess on, then she sees the man in it. He's got slicked-back hair and a 24-carrot smile, perfect teeth—too perfect as if washed in chrome. Two guards armed with silenced .22 SMGs stand, bulky and tough, a few meters away.

"Name's Benny. You know, you're lookin' like a fine broad in that dress." His mouth was used to admiring the whores he spent nights with in his room, so nothing he said deviated from a flirtatious compliment. "You're also one of the few broads I know who can pull off the plasma-green hair look. And a brown dress, too, come to think of it."

She's leaning against the railing and can feel him glance at her backside.

The guards exchange glances. Usually, the boss isn't so set on making a pass at women wandering the casino halls: he had his hookers. But something about this one gal really got him goin'. They keep their steady ground. Something about her seems a bit dangerous.

"You likin' this place so far?"

She feels his eyes slide up and down her figure.

"Oh, I like it lots." She stares down at the floor tiling.

He smirks, as if in victory, "Yeah? Well, I run this place, baby."

God, if only she could use that knife of hers...

"Oh, really? Well, I'll be. The owner of The Tops."

—

Fox finally finds that rat at the other end of the casino, chattin' up a gal with bright green hair. Her eyes instantly lift to his, and she smiles. Fox had smuggled his fair share of weapons into this casino, and it didn't take long for him to notice that certain sharp, mischevious twinkle in her eyes. She's obviously not interested in whatever Benny has to say. Score.

He makes his way over to the guards and tells them he's got business to talk with Benny. That always gets their attention.

One moves over to the boss and taps his shoulder.

"You wanna get—Hey, what're you doin'? What is it that requires my immediate attention, you asshole?"

The guard sticks his thumb over his shoulder at Fox.

"Says he wants to talk business, boss."

Benny steps around the girl and glares at Fox.

"Look who it is. Guy who went broke." He pauses, "Hey, Fox."

Fox crosses his arms, where muscles show through the cotton white fabric, "Hey."

"I'm guessing you're coming back for that trinket of yours?"

"Yep."

"You know my lost and found policy—"

"100 caps to browse the lost and found? Yeah, I don't think so."

"Then I'm afraid you ain't getting that back."

Fox sighs, "What a shame. Well, I guess I've learned one thing from this trip: you're a cheap asshole."

The girl cracks a snicker, to which Benny frowns.

Fox gives her a smile over his shoulder, then leaves.

She smirks and watches his big arms disappear around the corner.

Fox—that was his name, apparently. Boy, he sure was a fox. He stood out from the crowd like a sore thumb—and a good looking thumb at that.

A thumb she'd like to get to know.

* * *

 **To continue your story, go to Chapter 21**

 _New Story Insignia!_

 _It is now: **&**_


	20. Chapter 17 !

**[Only read if you came from Chapter 10]**

* * *

It's 9 pm and the hallway to Benny's room is as silent as the wastes themselves. There's only the buzzing of the dim lights above and the panicked beating of her dear heart.

Before she knows it, Benny's holding the door open for her. He's still in his pressed checkered suit but there's a dead rose in his right coat pocket.

"Hey, baby."

She steps in, her eyes frozen open. His room's real fancy. There's a mini bar off to the right, and after locking the door behind him, he goes over to pour her a drink.

"Here." He hands it over, "This'll keep those legs of yours from shaking so much. You look like a Cazador on jet."

She doesn't take the drink, just thrusts a bag of caps forward. "200. I sold some of my rations for some more caps."

Benny's brow furrows. "Aw, baby. Didn't I tell you not to be going off like that?"

"But—"

"There aren't any buts in business." He zones in on her like a shark, grips her hips, kisses her neck and sets her cup aside on the bar while rocking forward. "We made a deal." He whispers.

She gasps and shuts her eyes tight, "Don't you want caps?"

He stops for a moment and looks up at her, "Baby, I've got all the caps in the world I could ever want." He spins her and walks her over to the king sized bed that's been fixed and tended and waiting. "I just want you now."

He leans her down on the bed and undresses down to his boxers, then starts feeling for her dress zipper. She doesn't fight it, just simply lays there, like a dead fish waiting to be gutted. He smells like hookers, cigarettes, and all sorts of alcohol.

Once Benny gets the zipper down he works on peeling the dress off real slow, so he can admire every new bit revealed.

"Ohh, you're a real fine broad, aren't you? I'd like to see more."

There's the quiet clicking of a lock, and the door swings open.

Fox is leaning against the door frame with a revolver in one hand, a bobby pin in the other, and a rabbit's foot hanging from his neck.

"Nice seein' the famous businessman of The Strip in his boxers. Luckily I came early. If I'd come any later, you'd have your little ring-a-ding-dinger dangling." He points the revolver, "Get off her, Benny."

Benny throws his hands in the air, "Whoa, whoa, whoa! Don't shoot!"

"Yeah, yeah, shuckster. Stop flapping your mouth." Fox makes his way over and asks the woman, who's gripping the sheets so tight that her knuckles turn pale. "You okay?"

She nods.

"You can put your dress back on. I won't look. But you bet I'll keep this dip stick in my sights." He turns back to Benny with the revolver held steady.

She hurriedly slips back into the dress and tries zipping the back by herself. Fox glances back and sees her struggle, then zips it for her and helps her off the bed.

"There. Let's get outta here before Mr. Candyass calls for help, yeah?"

She's entranced with his eyes but manages a word. "Yeah."

"I have a feeling you got stuff you need to pick up?"

"Yeah."

"Alright." They run and Benny yells for his guards.

"What room?" He asks.

"Five."

He finds it in an instant and she rushes in. She packs her things so quick it was as if a tornado came in and swept everything away. She runs out with her pack, breathing quick, "I have weapons too. Lots."

Fox ponders a moment. "I think I have an idea of where they're stored—"

"Hand me a bobby pin." She says.

"What?"

She holds out an open palm, "Bobby pin."

He quickly rifles through his pockets and hands her three.

She takes them and sprints off.

"Wait—where're you going?"

He can't find her anywhere until he sees her nonchalantly walk out from behind a desk in the casino plaza with an overstuffed pack. The tip of a mini nuke sticks out from the top.

Dozens of chairmen come sprinting in with their pistols at the ready. "That's them!" They yell.

Fox sees the woman crack a smile and pull a plasma pistol from her pack. Gamblers scream and scatter. That smile—something you'd only see on a real professional who knew the joys of a good gunfight.

They get alongside each other.

"You ready to leave?" He asks.

"You sure as hell I am." She snickers and they sprint out the casino doors as bullets zing past their heads and chip the walls.

Oh man, this woman.

* * *

 **To continue your story, go to Chapter 25**


	21. Chapter 18 ?

**[Only read if you came from Chapter 11]**

* * *

It's 9 pm and the hallway to Benny's room is as silent as the wastes themselves. There's only the buzzing of the dim lights above and the quiet metallic clang of the knife along her thigh.

Before she knows it, Benny's holding the door open for her. He's still in his pressed checkered suit but there's a dead rose in his right coat pocket.

"Hey, baby."

She steps in and her cold eyes move over everything. His room's real fancy. There's a mini bar off to the right, and after locking the door behind him, Benny goes over to pour her a drink.

"Here." He hands it over, "Loosen up. You're as stiff as a board." He winks, "Shouldn't that be my job?"

She doesn't take the drink, just laughs dryly. "Funny."

He'd be stiff in a way he didn't expect. Cold and stiff.

Benny zones in on her like a shark, grips her hips, kisses her neck and sets her cup aside on the bar while rocking forward. "So." He whispers, "We made a deal."

Her eyes narrow, but she lets him keep going.

He stops for a moment and looks up at her, "Baby, I've got all the caps in the world I could ever want..." He spins her and walks her over to the king sized bed that's been fixed and tended and waiting. "But isn't it funny? I just want you now."

He smells like hookers, cigarettes, and all sorts of alcohol, leans her down on the bed and undresses down to his boxers, then starts feeling for her dress zipper. When the zipper's down he works on peeling the dress off real slow, so he can admire every new bit revealed.

"Ohh, you're a real fine broad, aren't you? I'd like to see more."

Suddenly she grabs his collar.

"Oh," He chuckles, kisses her neck, and smiles gleefully, "You want it rough, don't you?" But his smile quickly fades when he feels the cold blade pressed against his neck.

"Yeah. I like it rough."

Her knees lock around his neck and press him back into the blankets. She pins his wrists down. Her eyes are ice.

"You're going to let me off this payment. Hear me?" She lets the edge of the blade press further in.

He struggles with his voice for a moment. "Y-yeah."

There's the quiet clicking of a lock, and the door swings open.

Fox runs in with a revolver in one hand, a bobby pin in the other, and a rabbit's foot hanging from his neck.

He sees her with the knife and instantly lowers his gun. "Holy shit...I thought I was too late..."

She lifts the knife in his direction, "What're you doing here?"

He carefully puts his revolver away and lifts his hands, "I'm friendly. I heard about your deal. I didn't like what he was doing, so I came to get you out of it, but it seems you've taken care of the situation already."

Benny takes quick breaths, "How'd you guys get these weapons in?!"

The woman grips his shoulders and points the tip of the knife at his face. "Shut up." Then she turns to Fox and smiles, "Oh, thanks." She hops off Benny, "Could you watch him while I get dressed?"

Fox carefully draws his revolver, "Alright."

She hurriedly slips back into the dress and tries zipping the back by herself. The zipper was stuck, but she enjoyed the delay. It gave her more time to admire those muscles. They got her all flustered, but in that nice way. Fox glances back and sees her problem, then zips it for her and helps her off the bed.

She smiles and can't stop staring into his eyes. It takes her a moment to speak, "So, should we get outta here before he calls for help?"

"Is that your plan?" He asks.

She holds up her skirt and slides the knife into the holster on her thigh. "Yeah. I don't wanna stay here any hour longer."

"You got stuff you need to pick up?"

"Yeah."

"Alright." They run and from a distance they hear Benny yell for his guards.

"What room?" He asks.

"Five."

He finds it in an instant and she rushes in. She packs her things so quick it was as if a tornado came in and swept everything away. She runs out with her pack, breathing quick, "I have other weapons too. Lots."

Fox ponders a moment. "I think I have an idea of where they're stored—"

"Hand me a bobby pin." She says.

"What?"

She holds out an open palm, "Bobby pin."

He quickly rifles through his pockets and hands her three.

She takes them and sprints off.

"Wait- where're you going?"

He can't find her anywhere until he sees her nonchalantly walk out from behind a desk in the casino plaza with an overstuffed pack. The tip of a mini nuke sticks out from the top.

Dozens of chairmen come sprinting in with their pistols at the ready. "That's them!" They yell.

Fox sees the woman crack a smile and pull a plasma pistol from her pack. Gamblers scream and scatter. That smile—something you'd only see on a real professional who knew the joys of a good gunfight.

They get alongside each other.

"You ready to leave?" He asks.

"You sure as hell I am." She snickers and they sprint out the casino doors as bullets zing past their heads and chip the walls.

Oh man, this woman.

* * *

 **To continue your story, go to Chapter 26**


	22. Chapter 19 '

**[Only read if you came from Chapter 12]**

* * *

It's 9 pm and the hallway to Benny's room is as silent as the wastes themselves. There's only the buzzing of the dim lights above and the panicked beating of her dear heart.

Before she knows it, Benny's holding the door open for her. He's still in his pressed checkered suit but there's a dead rose in his right coat pocket.

"Hey, baby."

She steps in, her eyes frozen open. His room's real fancy. There's a mini bar off to the right, and after locking the door behind him, he goes over to pour her a drink.

"Here." He hands it over, "This'll keep those legs of yours from shaking so much. You look like a Cazador on jet."

She doesn't take the drink, just thrusts a bag of caps forward. "200." Her voice shakes a little, "I sold some of my rations for some more caps."

Benny's brow furrows. "Aw, baby. Didn't I tell you not to be going off like that?"

"But—"

"There aren't any buts in business." He zones in on her like a shark, grips her hips, kisses her neck and sets her cup aside on the bar while rocking forward. "We made a deal." He whispers.

She gasps and shuts her eyes tight, "Don't you want caps?"

He stops for a moment and looks up at her, "Baby, I've got all the caps in the world I could ever want." He spins her and walks her over to the king sized bed that's been fixed and tended and waiting. "I just want you now."

He leans her down on the bed and undresses down to his boxers, then starts feeling for her dress zipper. She doesn't fight it, just simply lays there, like a dead fish waiting to be gutted. He smells like hookers, cigarettes, and all sorts of alcohol.

Once Benny gets the zipper down he works on peeling the dress off real slow, so he can admire every new bit revealed.

"Ohh, you're a real fine broad, aren't you? I'd like to see more."

And he did. The night was his; he got his way, and she didn't, spending the whole time there gripping the sheets until her knuckles turned white and her cheeks whiter.

Pure torture, and all for three lost caps. Sometimes, in his peaking groans, she had this lingering feeling of expectation, like someone would rush in and get her out, but of course no one ever came. The door was shut and locked. And it stayed that way all through the night.

* * *

 **To continue your story, go to Chapter 27**


	23. Chapter 20 - CHOICE

**[Only read if you came from Chapter 13]**

* * *

It's 9 pm and the hallway to Benny's room is as silent as the wastes themselves. There's only the buzzing of the dim lights above and the quiet metallic clang of the knife along her thigh.

Before she knows it, Benny's holding the door open for her. He's still in his pressed checkered suit but there's a dead rose in his right coat pocket.

"Hey, baby."

She steps in and her cold eyes move over everything. His room's real fancy. There's a mini bar off to the right, and after locking the door behind him, Benny goes over to pour her a drink.

"Here." He hands it over, "Loosen up. You're as stiff as a board." He winks, "Shouldn't that be my job?"

She doesn't take the drink, just laughs dryly. "Funny."

He'd be stiff in a way he didn't expect. Cold and stiff.

Benny zones in on her like a shark, grips her hips, kisses her neck and sets her cup aside on the bar while rocking forward. "So." He whispers, "We made a deal."

Her eyes narrow, but she lets him keep going.

He stops for a moment and looks up at her, "Baby, I've got all the caps in the world I could ever want..." He spins her and walks her over to the king sized bed that's been fixed and tended and waiting. "But isn't it funny? I just want you now."

He leans her down on the bed and undresses down to his boxers, then starts feeling for her dress zipper. When the zipper's down he works on peeling the dress off real slow, so he can admire every new bit revealed. He smells like hookers, cigarettes, and all sorts of alcohol.

"Ohh, you're a real fine broad, aren't you? I'd like to see more."

Suddenly she grabs his collar.

"Oh," He chuckles, kisses her neck, and smiles gleefully, "You want it rough, don't you?" But his smile quickly fades when he feels the cold blade pressed against his neck.

"Yeah. I like it rough."

Her knees lock around his neck and press him back into the blankets. She pins his wrists down. Her eyes are ice.

"You're going to let me off this payment. Hear me?" She lets the edge of the blade press further in.

He struggles with his voice for a moment. "Y-yeah."

"Good."

* * *

 **CHOICE**

Kill Benny (Go to Chapter 23)

 _New Story Insignia!_ **-x**

Leave (Go to Chapter 24)

 _New Story Insignia!_ **-y**


	24. Chapter 21 &

**[Only read if you came from Chapter 14 or Chapter 16]**

* * *

She goes to bed with the thought of that man stuck in her head: she isn't thinking of Benny, though—she'd already long forgotten about him—but she is thinking of Fox. The image of him was stuck in her brain, whether she liked it or not.

He had these amazingly green eyes, with his smile just as bright and pleasant. She's noticed his trigger-trained fingers twitch and rub together as if itching for a gun at his side. That stain of gunpowder on his palm. That loose leather holster resting under his waist...But who was he? And where had he come from? Why was he at The Tops? She wants to know so badly, but a part of her knows they would probably never meet again. He'd go back to whatever job he has in New Vegas—most likely the Kings gang, come to think of it: he sorta had the haircut, though it was a bit scuffed, and she'd go back to the wasteland tomorrow morning. Continue scavenging, continue her annoying work with the NCR. Life would just become another boring fight for survival.

She rolls over in bed onto her side, propping herself up with her elbow, and stares at the dusty lamp on her bedside table.

 _Why the hell am I dwelling on this so much?_ In a huff, she reaches for the switch and bites her lip, _Just another fucking man,_ She fiddles with it for a few seconds, _Who I shouldn't give a shit about._ The room goes dark. She falls back into her pillows. _Making my trip out of here tomorrow. Now let's go the fuck to bed._

—

As Fox replaces his .44 Magnum into its holster and makes his way out of The Tops casino doors, a wide grin grows over his face. When the guards're out of sight, he fishes in his pockets for a few moments, then throws the Rabbit's foot necklace over his neck. He fiddles with it and smiles for a long while, but stops suddenly. He stands still in the darkness, under the moon.

As if the thought of the girl hadn't exhausted itself in his head enough: he's been thinking of her all day. He thought of her when he left The Tops at noon, thought of her when he got drunk off of his last bottle of whisky behind the Atomic Wrangler in the pm, thought of her when he snuck back into the casino and stole his necklace in the am, and now he's still thinking of her.

But he knows they won't meet again. She was sweet. Life is bitter.

Fox sighs and approaches the Securitrons watching him from the Strip Exit doors. They gave him a quick scan, then belted, "Move along."

He gives them a quick nod and walks through the screeching gates.

After packing his few bits of goods left from behind the Atomic Wrangler, he travels safely through Freeside, moves slowly past under the shadow of the Old Mormon Fort and stops at the North gate.

He stares at it for a long while, like it's trapped him in place. His fingers brush over the Rabbit's foot. No double take. He pushes the gates open, continues his way over the cracks in the road, then is engulfed by the inky darkness ahead in the wastes.

* * *

 **To continue your story, go to Chapter 28**


	25. Chapter 22 (

**[Only read if you came from Chapter 15]**

* * *

She'd go back to the wasteland tomorrow morning; continue scavenging, continue her annoying work with the NCR. Life would just become another boring fight for survival.

What a wasted trip. She met no cute boys, only some jackass that wouldn't stop staring at her ass. It was okay at first, but now what? There was no one else here to enjoy The Strip with her.

She rolls over in bed onto her side, props herself up with her elbow, and stares at the dusty lamp on her bedside table.

 _What an idiot I've been._ In a huff, she reaches for the switch and bites her lip, _Of_ course _I'd meet no one I'd fancy._ She fiddles with it for a few seconds, _It's the Nuclear fucking apocalypse._ The room goes dark. _No one loves each other anymore._ She falls back into her pillows. _Making my trip out of here tomorrow. Now let's go the fuck to bed._

 _—_

Fox stood still in the darkness, under the moon. He sighs, then moves slowly under the shadow of the Old Mormon Fort and stops at the North gate.

He stares at it for a long while, like it's trapped him in place. His fingers brush over the Rabbit's foot. No double take. He pushes the gates open, continues his way over the cracks in the road, then is engulfed by the inky darkness ahead in the wastes.

* * *

 **To continue your story, go to Chapter 29**


	26. Chapter 23 -x

**[Only read if you came from Chapter 20]**

 **You Picked: Kill Benny**

* * *

"Good."

Her fingers squeeze the handle of the knife and her teeth clench. Her grip on him didn't loosen.

Benny glances around, sweat forming on his hairline, his palms clammy. "Um...you gonna let me go? I-I...ah...I let you off that payment..."

"Hm." She was staring straight into his pupils like they were some piece of parchment holding his last confessions.

Then Benny understood; she's going to kill him, no matter what. She's probably killed dozens—no—hundreds before him. She's a wastelander, a wanderer. Life abandoned her the day she was born, just like it did all the rest, and now she's just a reflection of the apocalypse.

So Benny did what any desperate man would do: he yelled for help, but before he could even take a breath, she rammed her knee into his chest and slashed the knife across his throat. Blood speckled the wall and ran quickly into the sheets. Silence ensued. Dead silence. She stepped off his corpse, slid back into the dress, jerked the zipper up and wiped the blade off on his checkered suit that was crumpled up on the floor.

She strapped into her heels and slid the knife in the belt along her thigh, then left through the doors.

The man at the check-in desk had the night shift. Everything was usually quiet after 10 pm, even though they kept the casino lights on. It was just for safety measures, really.

He's tasting the tip of his cigarette when he hears the click-clacking of heels. It's sharp and powerful and quick, and it's coming closer. He sees a fuzzy shadow coming from the casino hall quickly focus into a woman. She has an overstuffed pack and a belt full of grenades and knives. Her white knuckles grip a spear. Her icy eyes are glaring at him.

"Shit." He reaches for his gun, "Shit, shit, shit." He aims, "Ma'am, civilians with weapons are not allowed on this premises—AGH!"

He gasps for air and the gun falls from his hand. His shaky fingers reach for the spear protruding from his throat. His eyes cloud over and blood runs onto the tile floor. He's still.

The woman looks him over, quickly loots the cash register, then continues her stoic strut out the casino doors.

* * *

 **To continue your story, go to Chapter 30**


	27. Chapter 24 -y

**Well, hello! Looks who's back? It's me, and it's summer! Woo! Glad to be back :)**

 **[Only read if you came from Chapter 20]**

 **You Picked: Leave**

* * *

"Good." She smiles.

The handle of the knife kicks into his skull and he falls unconscious into the pillows.

She steps off his body, slides back into the dress, jerks the zipper up and hops off the bed. She strapped into her heels and slid the knife in the belt along her thigh, then left through the doors.

The man at the check-in desk had the night shift. Everything was usually quiet after 10 pm, even though they kept the casino lights on. It was just for safety measures, really.

He's tasting the tip of his cigarette when he hears the click-clacking of heels. He sees a fuzzy shadow coming from the casino hall focus into a woman. She has a little green dress and delicate red lipstick.

"Hey, missy. What's keepin' you up? Plannin' on leavin'?"

She looked over from the darkness and gave him an irresistible smile, "Oh, no—I'm just staying one more night. I'll check out tomorrow." Then she unlocked the door to her room and disappeared.

* * *

 **To continue your story, go to Chapter 31**


	28. Chapter 25 !

**[Only read if you came from Chapter 17]**

* * *

They left under the stars, sped past the robots in the Strip, and hopped onto the roads of Freeside. The woman can't stop smiling at him. The moonlight captures his figure perfectly, even as he runs next to heaps of trash and crumbling buildings. She couldn't help a little giggle, either.

Fox looks back at her. They were walking now. "What?"

"Oh, nothing." She tries to hide it by looking away, "Just...Thanks for gettin' me outta that hellhole."

"Yeah, no problem. Never liked Benny anyways."

She pointed to the rabbit's foot dangling from his neck, "So...what's that? That's new."

He glances down and turns a bit red in the cheeks, "Oh, this? This's my one piece of luck. I keep it with me."

"Oh, is that what you were trying to bargain for with Benny? About the lost and found?"

"Yeah."

"Aw." Her smile only grew bigger, "That's cute."

And he only turned redder, "Thanks."

They pass under the shadow of the Old Mormon Fort and stop at the North Gate.

Fox looks back at her, "Oh, you're still following me."

"You bet I am."

"Why?"

"You can't just have a gunfight with a guy and then let him beat feet. And where else do you think I have to go?"

Fox lights a cigarette, "I don't know, do you live somewhere in Freeside?"

"No."

"Goodsprings?"

"Nope."

"Primm?"

"Naw."

"Boulder City?"

"No one lives there."

"Novac?"

"Thank God no."

"...Nipton?"

"No!"

"Where the hell do you live then?"

She puts her hands on her hips. "Where do you think? I got a giant pack full of illegal weapons, rations, crazy green hair."

"...Wastelander?"

"Yeah, you dipstick."

"Oh. Prospector?"

"Sorta. Not really."

"Huh?"

She chuckles, "The real question here is where do you live? You stopped here at the North gate, so I'm starting to wonder if you're a wastelander, too. But you don't look like it. You look more like a King's member that's gone down the hole."

He frowns and flicks the cigarette into the pavement, squashing it with his shoe. That isn't exactly a topic he'd like to explain. "Oh, I see. Turnin' the tables on me."

"Yeah."

He decides to keep it simple, keep all the King's stuff out of it, "I don't live anywhere."

"Kay, where're you goin'?"

"Into the wasteland."

She strolls up to him and snickers, "Well ain't that dandy? We're goin' the same way. Soooo...Since you got nowhere else to go, wanna come with?"

Fox glances at her face. It's nothing short of adorable, like watching a puppy beg. But he knows she was far from a puppy. Maybe the analogy would work better if it were a coyote or something.

"Yeah, I could come with."

She bursts into a cry of joy and laughter, runs across the broken pavement, and grips the lock on the North gate, "Come on then, I'll show you the twists and turns of the Mojave, and we'll both make sure we don't get eaten or blown to bits, right?"

He smiles back, "Right."

* * *

 **To continue your story, go to Chapter 32**


	29. Chapter 26 ?

**[Only read if you came from Chapter 18]**

* * *

They left under the stars, sped past the robots in the Strip, and hopped onto the roads of Freeside. The woman can't stop grinning at him. The moonlight captures his figure perfectly, even as he runs next to heaps of trash and crumbling buildings. She couldn't help a little giggle, either.

Fox looks back at her. They were walking now. "What?"

"Oh, nothing." Her face falls to a smirk, "Thanks for fightin' those Chairmen with me."

"Yeah, no problem. Never liked The Tops anyways."

"So let me make this straight...You burst in on me and Benny cuz of what?"

"To make sure he never went through on that deal. It was nasty and he should've known better."

She chuckles, "Boy, you sure gave me a scare. I thought you were one of his guards or somethin'. I was ready to splatter blood on the walls."

Fox laughs nervously, "Yeah...Didn't know you'd brought a knife with you. Glad I was there to help."

She pointed to the rabbit's foot dangling from his neck, "So what's that? That's new."

He glances down and turns a bit red in the cheeks, "Oh, this? This's my one piece of luck. I keep it with me."

"Oh, is that what you were trying to bargain for with Benny? About the lost and found?"

"Yeah."

"Aw." Her smile only grew bigger, "That's cute."

And he only turned redder, "Thanks."

They pass under the shadow of the Old Mormon Fort and stop at the North Gate.

Fox looks back at her, "Oh, you're still following me."

"You bet I am."

"Why?"

"You can't just have a gunfight with a guy and then let him beat feet. And where else do you think I have to go?"

Fox lights a cigarette, "I don't know, do you live somewhere in Freeside?"

"No."

"Goodsprings?"

"Nope."

"Primm?"

"Naw."

"Boulder City?"

"No one lives there."

"Novac?"

"Thank God no."

"...Nipton?"

"No!"

"Where the hell do you live then?"

She puts her hands on her hips. "Where do you think? I got a giant pack full of illegal weapons, rations, crazy green hair."

"...Wastelander?"

"Yeah, you dipstick."

"Oh. Prospector?"

"Sorta. Not really."

"Huh?"

She chuckles, "The real question here is where do you live? You stopped here at the North gate, so I'm starting to wonder if you're a wastelander, too. But you don't look like it. You look more like a King's member that's gone down the hole."

He frowns and flicks the cigarette into the pavement, squashing it with his shoe. That isn't exactly a topic he'd like to explain. "Oh, I see. Turnin' the tables on me."

"Yeah."

He decides to keep it simple, keep all the King's stuff out of it, "I don't live anywhere."

"Kay, where're you goin'?"

"Into the wasteland."

She strolls up to him and snickers, "Well ain't that dandy? We're goin' the same way. Soooo...Since you got nowhere else to go, wanna come with?"

Fox glances at her face. It was like watching a coyote—calm yet mischievous eyes, upturned lips. But boy she was adorable, too.

"Yeah, I could come with."

She bursts into a cry of laughter, runs across the broken pavement, and grips the lock on the North gate, "Come on then, I'll show you the twists and turns of the Mojave, and we'll both make sure we don't get eaten or blown to bits, right?"

He smiles back, "Right."

* * *

 **To continue your story, go to Chapter 33**


	30. Chapter 27 '

**[Only read if you came from Chapter 19]**

* * *

Her breath feels muggy under the sheets, the air heavy and damp, her head in a daze. Everything's cold: the flesh on her arms, the tips of her toes, even her skull. She glances at the clock on the wall, listens to its incessant ticking. Five am. Benny is fast asleep, his hands heavy on her waist, breaths deep. She slips under his fingers and inches under the covers till her toes touch the floor. It's freezing, and a shiver drives itself over her bare skin. She steps into the frail green dress on the floor and carefully tries zipping it up by herself. It gets caught midway so she leaves it undone. She moves across the creaking floorboards slowly and picks up her heels on her way out the door.

The man at the check-in desk had the night shift. Everything was usually quiet after 10 pm, even though they kept the casino lights on. It was just for safety measures, really.

He's tasting the tip of his cigarette when he hears the pitter-pattering of feet. He sees a fuzzy shadow coming from the casino hall focus into a woman. She has a little green dress on and holds a pair of heels.

"Hey, missy. What's keepin' you up? Plannin' on leavin'?"

She looked over from the darkness, voice delicate, "Oh, no—I'll um, I'll check out tomorrow." Then she unlocked the door to her room and disappeared.

* * *

 **To continue your story, go to Chapter 34**


	31. Chapter 28 &

**[Only read if you came from Chapter 21]**

* * *

She leaves while the orange light yawns over the broken streets, her steps quick, eyes set forward, weapons thrown over her shoulder. Checking out was smooth, leaving The Strip was easy, that all got along fine. Everything on the street's quiet, seemingly abandoned, and even the thieves are sleeping. She turns the rusty switch on her radio and it crackles quietly into life as she passes through Freeside.

Dust stirs under the wires weaving the North gate when she approaches as if the restless wasteland were seeping through to peek inside. She kicks the dust as if it were a naughty dog and grunts as she pulls the lock and opens the gates. The wasteland hissed and flew in with the rising breeze. As she closed the gate behind her and stepped into the sand-ridden road, it wrung round and round her ankles and followed her the way down while she kept trying to kick it away. Pale plants and rocks drying in the sun sit and watch her enviously go past, the sun wakening behind them.

Her eyes catch sight of footprints in the dust. Single footprints—definitely not a caravan or gang. Whoever it is is going solo. They shouldn't be that far away. The prints seemed a bit fresh, maybe from last night, maybe six hours ago. If she picks the pace up a little she'd be able to catch up with them, see what they're up to. Going alone into the Mojave isn't very common, and most often very dangerous.

—

Everything had been going just fine for Fox. He traveled all night and had gotten pretty far. He was just approaching a hunter's farmhouse. He could see a hot rod rusting out front and a wagon wilting somewhere near the back with a packed sack sitting near the wheels.

Fox's stomach grumbles. He clutches his cotton shirt and tries rubbing the tiredness from his eyes but can't seem to shake the weary sleeplessness that's been weighing him down like a boulder on his shoulders. He'd gotten no sleep for two days straight, been getting drunk or walking away from his problems the whole time. He could even feel the hangover seeping in already.

He slumps in the shade next to the wheels and rummages through the sack. Maize, barrel cactus fruits, a few honey mesquite pods, and some dusty bottles of NukaCola sit near the bottom. Someone must've forgotten it all, or they left and died in the wastes.

He took a few lazy bites of the barrel cactus fruit, which was dry and unwelcoming, but food nonetheless, then popped the cap off the NukaCola and took a big, sizzling gulp. God, he couldn't believe this stuff was still around after the bombs. Each bottle's a living relic, and probably terribly irradiated. He doesn't care. It's like a cold spring running down his throat. Something that isn't alcohol for once. That stuff burns.

He heaves a sigh as his eyes drag over the empty Mojave. Dust dances in the warming air and long shadows retreat. It all blurs as the bottle falls from his hand and he snores under the rising sun.

* * *

 **To continue your story, go to Chapter 35**


	32. Chapter 29 (

**[Only read if you came from Chapter 22]**

* * *

She leaves while the orange light yawns over the broken streets, her steps quick, eyes set forward, weapons thrown over her shoulder. Checking out was smooth, hiding the knife was easy, leaving The Strip was a piece of cake, that all got along fine. Everything on the street's quiet, seemingly abandoned, and even the thieves are sleeping. She turns the rusty switch on her radio and it crackles quietly into life as she passes through Freeside.

Dust stirs under the wires weaving the North gate when she approaches as if the restless wasteland were seeping through to peek inside. She kicks the dust as if it were a naughty dog and grunts as she pulls the lock and opens the gates. The wasteland hissed and flew in with the rising breeze. As she closed the gate behind her and stepped into the sand-ridden road, it wrung round and round her ankles and followed her the way down while she kept trying to kick it away. Pale plants and rocks drying in the sun sit and watch her enviously go past, the sun wakening behind them.

Her eyes catch sight of footprints in the dust. Single footprints—definitely not a caravan or gang. Whoever it is is going solo. They shouldn't be that far away. The prints seemed a bit fresh, maybe from last night, maybe six hours ago. If she picks the pace up a little she'd be able to catch up with them, see what they're up to. Going alone into the Mojave isn't very common, and most often very dangerous.

—

Everything had been going just fine for Fox. He traveled all night and had gotten pretty far. He was just approaching a hunter's farmhouse. He could see a hot rod rusting out front and a wagon wilting somewhere near the back with a packed sack sitting near the wheels.

Fox's stomach grumbles. He clutches his cotton shirt and tries rubbing the tiredness from his eyes but can't seem to shake the weary sleeplessness that's been weighing him down like a boulder on his shoulders. He'd gotten no sleep for two days straight, been getting drunk or walking away from his problems the whole time. He could even feel the hangover seeping in already.

He slumps in the shade next to the wheels and rummages through the sack. Maize, barrel cactus fruits, a few honey mesquite pods, and some dusty bottles of NukaCola sit near the bottom. Someone must've forgotten it all, or they left and died in the wastes.

He took a few lazy bites of the barrel cactus fruit, which was dry and unwelcoming, but food nonetheless, then popped the cap off the NukaCola and took a big, sizzling gulp. God, he couldn't believe this stuff was still around after the bombs. Each bottle's a living relic, and probably terribly irradiated. He doesn't care. It's like a cold spring running down his throat. Something that isn't alcohol for once. That stuff burns.

He heaves a sigh as his eyes drag over the empty Mojave. Dust dances in the warming air and long shadows retreat. It all blurs as the bottle falls from his hand and he snores under the rising sun.

* * *

 **To continue your story, go to Chapter 36**


	33. Chapter 30 -x

**[Only read if you came from Chapter 23]**

* * *

No one found Benny's body when she left: only as she was striding out The Tops doors was there distant screaming in the halls. She leaves while the stars wink over the broken streets, her steps quick, eyes set forward, weapons thrown over her shoulder. Everything on the street's quiet, seemingly abandoned, and even the thieves are sleeping. She turns the rusty switch on her radio and it crackles quietly into life as she passes through the blackness of Freeside.

Dust stirs under the pale white lights and the wires weaving the North gate when she approaches as if the restless wasteland were seeping through to peek inside. She kicks the dust as if it were a naughty dog and grunts as she pulls the lock and opens the gates. The wasteland hissed and flew in with the rising breeze. As she closed the gate behind her and stepped into the sand-ridden road, it wrung round and round her ankles and followed her the way down while she kept trying to kick it away. Plants and rocks, white and black under the moonlight, sit and watch her enviously go past, the faded sky watching behind them.

Her eyes catch sight of footprints in the dust. Old ones, maybe from a day or two ago: the wind had mostly swept them away. Whoever it was is traveling solo, which is a bit strange. Going alone into the Mojave isn't very common, and most often very dangerous. She picks up the pace a little. She might happen by them on the way, dead or alive.

* * *

 **To continue your story, go to Chapter 37**


	34. Chapter 31 -y

**[Only read if you came from Chapter 24]**

* * *

Benny didn't breathe a word of it when they were both awake in the morning. She packed her things daintily, like an innocent child, and now leaves while the sun washes over the broken streets, her steps quick, eyes set forward, weapons thrown over her shoulder. Everything on the street's quiet, seemingly abandoned, and even the thieves are sleeping. She turns the rusty switch on her radio and it crackles quietly into life as she passes through Freeside.

Dust stirs under the wires weaving the North gate when she approaches as if the restless wasteland were seeping through to peek inside. She kicks the dust as if it were a naughty dog and grunts as she pulls the lock and opens the gates. The wasteland hissed and flew in with the rising breeze. As she closed the gate behind her and stepped into the sand-ridden road, it wrung round and round her ankles and followed her the way down while she kept trying to kick it away. Plants and rocks, orange and red under the sunrise, sit and watch her enviously go past, the fading night watching from behind them.

Her eyes catch sight of footprints in the dust. Old ones, maybe from a day or two ago: the wind had mostly swept them away. Whoever it was is traveling solo, which is a bit strange. Going alone into the Mojave isn't very common, and most often very dangerous. She picks up the pace a little. She might happen by them on the way, dead or alive.

* * *

 **To continue your story, go to Chapter 38**


	35. Chapter 32 !

**[Only read if you came from Chapter 25]**

* * *

They kept a good eye on each other till dawn. The wasteland was quiet and left them lots of room for conversation, though they didn't make much use of it. Most of the time the green-haired woman was watching the shadows behind the boulders and the dusty dry tops of the plateaus in the distance, her gun always drawn. That's what unnerved Fox the most. She seemed pretty apple-butter until now: now she's all bad news in a helluva good dress. It'd been a long while since Fox had stepped foot in the wastes, so he wasn't as wise and kept his revolvers holstered the entire time.

The sun yawns over the desolate rocks and dust, cacti bristle in the whispering young breeze, and calm white clouds drift over. It's finally morning.

Suddenly the woman grabs his arm. "There." She's pointing to something in the distance. "Do you see that sign?"

Fox squints. Something rectangular comes into focus. It's made of wood and has white lettering. "Yeah."

She lowers her pistol. "We're almost to Goodsprings."

"Goodsprings?" The word's like honey on his tongue. Everyone adores that town to death, it's one of the few respectable towns in the Mojave: all the others are either disgusting or corrupt.

The Prospector Saloon and General Store slowly ascend from the dust as a tumbleweed skids across the broken road.

"I'm sure we can get a room in the Visitor's Shack. Victor won't mind, I'm sure. He doesn't sleep in a bed anyways."

"Victor? Who's that?"

She chuckles, and Fox can see her previous icy survival attitude's starting to melt. "You don't know? Damn. Victor's a robot. He kinda likes to bash ears but the town adores him. Real nice guy, er, robot."

"Hm."

She's still smiling, "You really haven't been here for a while...Wait. Have you ever been?"

"I went once when my dad and I first came to New Vegas."

She giggled, "It's a cute town, but it sure does a good job of makin' the rest of the Mojave seem like a dump."

"Yeah."

Dust encircles their feet and the sign creaks by.

"And here we are." She holds his shoulder, "I'm gonna check inside real quick. Wanna come with?"

—

The Prospector's Saloon is warm and humid, the floorboards creaky, the lights dim, just as it should be. They pass the table and chairs and enter the bar area, where customers sit in contemplation and Trudy takes their orders. Trudy welcomes them both with a wave, but when her eyes fall on the woman, her eyes widen. "Oh my God! Is that really you?" She puts a dirty cup down, "You've changed so much since I last saw you!"

She laughs, "Yeah, it's been so long."

"And who's this troublemaker you're runnin' around with?" She gestures to Fox and smiles jokingly. "You two gonna cause any trouble?"

"Him? He ain't a troublemaker. He's one of the nicest guys you'll meet here, Trudy. I got in a shuffle with that nosebleed Benny at The Tops and he got me out of it. We ran like hell and he's travellin' with me now."

Trudy leans in on the counter and shakes her head, "Benny is nothin' but trouble. Be glad you got out alive." She nods to Fox, "And thanks for protecting her. She's got a habit of gettin' into trouble with bad men. Now, you two need any water before you shrivel like dry sponges?"

Fox notices his parched lips. Now that he thinks about it, he's thirsty as hell.

The green haired woman sits on the stool across from Trudy, "Aw, sure," and she motions for Fox, "Come sit."

He smiles a little and sits on the next stool over.

"I went to school here before the old schoolhouse was overrun by giant mantises. It was a good place to grow up."

He gives both of them a long stare, "So...is Trudy your...mom?"

Both women laugh.

Trudy sets their glasses on the counter and they both gulp it down in one go. "Aw, no honey. It's flattering, but no. We ain't blood-related."

After wiping her mouth, the green-haired woman continues, "I was a big troublemaker back then. Goodsprings took me in when I ran away from my parents. They're members of The Legion and I was tired of their shit, so I escaped across the river."

Fox is taken aback. He knew there was something off about her, and this proves it. "God damn...Seriously?" Fox glances at her face. She didn't look at all sad. Her cheeks're still pink, her lips still curved into a smile. "That's insane."

"Ah, it's fine. They taught me how to fight at least before I left. Really comes in handy out in the wastes."

Trudy refilled their glasses with a sparkling pitcher, "So, are you two staying in the Visitor's shack for tonight?"

"Yeah. Is that okay with Victor?"

"What do you mean? Of course it's okay with Victor. It's always okay with him."

She giggled, "No truer words."

They spend the next hour and a half reminiscing about the past: her times in school, the battles against Powder Gangers, the Fire Gecko hunts. It's rich and full of adventure, yet her name was never once mentioned.

Then the woman gets up. "Alright, Trudy. I think we're ready to hit the sack. Been walkin' all night, I'm surprised and glad we got this far. So see ya. We'll be leavin' tonight."

"Alright. You two stay outta trouble." She smiles and cleans their glasses. "Have a good sleep."

* * *

 **To continue your story, go to Chapter 39**


	36. Chapter 33 ?

**[Only read if you came from Chapter 26]**

* * *

They kept a good eye on each other till dawn. The wasteland was quiet and left them lots of room for conversation, though they didn't make much use of it. Most of the time the green-haired woman was watching the shadows behind the boulders and the dusty dry tops of the plateaus in the distance, her gun always drawn. That's what unnerved Fox the most. She seemed pretty apple-butter until now: now she's all bad news in a helluva good dress. It'd been a long while since Fox had stepped foot in the wastes, so he wasn't as wise and kept his revolvers holstered the entire time.

The sun yawns over the desolate rocks and dust, cacti bristle in the whispering young breeze, and calm white clouds drift over. It's finally morning.

Suddenly the woman grabs his arm. "There." She's pointing to something in the distance. "Do you see that sign?"

Fox squints. Something rectangular comes into focus. It's made of wood and has white lettering. "Yeah."

She lowers her pistol. "We're almost to Goodsprings."

"Goodsprings?" The word's like honey on his tongue. Everyone adores that town to death, it's one of the few respectable towns in the Mojave: all the others are either disgusting or corrupt.

The Prospector Saloon and General Store slowly ascend from the dust as a tumbleweed skids across the broken road.

"I'm sure we can get a room in the Visitor's Shack. Victor won't mind, I'm sure. He doesn't sleep in a bed anyways."

"Victor? Who's that?"

She chuckles, and Fox can see her previous icy survival attitude's starting to melt. "You don't know? Damn. Victor's a robot. He kinda likes to bash ears but the town adores him. Real nice guy, er, robot."

"Hm."

She's still smiling, "You really haven't been here for a while...Wait. Have you ever been?"

"I went once when my dad and I first came to New Vegas."

She nodded, "It's a cute town, but it sure does a good job of makin' the rest of the Mojave seem like a dump."

"Yeah."

Dust encircles their feet and the sign creaks by.

"And here we are." She holds his shoulder, "I'm gonna check inside real quick. Wanna come with?"

—

The Prospector's Saloon is warm and humid, the floorboards creaky, the lights dim, just as it should be. They pass the table and chairs and enter the bar area, where customers sit in contemplation and Trudy takes their orders. Trudy welcomes them both with a wave, but when her eyes fall on the woman, her eyes widen. "Oh my God! Is that really you?" She puts a dirty cup down, "You've changed so much since I last saw you!"

She laughs, "Yeah, it's been a long time."

"And who's this troublemaker you're runnin' around with?" She gestures to Fox and smiles jokingly. "You two gonna cause any trouble?"

"Him? He ain't a troublemaker. He's one of the nicest guys you'll meet here, Trudy. I got in a shuffle with that nosebleed Benny at The Tops and he helped me out. We ran like hell and he's travellin' with me now."

Trudy leans in on the counter and shakes her head, "Benny is nothin' but trouble. Be glad you got out alive." She nods to Fox, "And thanks for protecting her. She's got a habit of gettin' into trouble with bad men. Now, you two need any water before you shrivel like dry sponges?"

Fox notices his parched lips. Now that he thinks about it, he's thirsty as hell.

The green haired woman sits on the stool across from Trudy, "Sure," and she motions for Fox, "Come sit."

He smiles a little and sits on the next stool over.

"I went to school here before the old schoolhouse was overrun by giant mantises. It was a good place to grow up."

He gives both of them a long stare, "So...is Trudy your...mom?"

Both women laugh.

Trudy sets their glasses on the counter and they both gulp it down in one go. "Aw, no honey. It's flattering, but no. We ain't blood-related."

After wiping her mouth, the green-haired woman continues, "I was a big troublemaker back then. Goodsprings took me in when I ran away from my parents. They're members of The Legion and I was tired of their shit, so I escaped across the river."

Fox is taken aback. He knew there was something off about her, and this proves it. "God damn...Seriously?" Fox glances at her face. She didn't look at all sad. Her cheeks're still pink, her lips still curved into a smile. "That's insane."

"Ah, it's fine. They taught me how to fight at least before I left. Really comes in handy out in the wastes."

Trudy refilled their glasses with a sparkling pitcher, "So, are you two staying in the Visitor's shack for tonight?"

"Yeah. Is that okay with Victor?"

"What do you mean? Of course it's okay with Victor. It's always okay with him."

She giggled, "No truer words."

They spend the next hour and a half reminiscing about the past: her times in school, the battles against Powder Gangers, the Fire Gecko hunts. It's rich and full of adventure, yet her name was never once mentioned.

Then the woman gets up. "Alright, Trudy. I think we're ready to hit the sack. Been walkin' all night, I'm surprised we got this far. So see ya. We'll be leavin' tonight."

"Alright. You two stay outta trouble." She smiles and cleans their glasses. "Have a good sleep."

* * *

 **To continue your story, go to Chapter 42**


	37. Chapter 34 '

**[Only read if you came from Chapter 27]**

* * *

Benny didn't breathe a word of it when they were both awake in the morning but kept casting her these disgustingly satisfied glances, as if she'd passed him her life and happiness in a check and signed it, all for his pleasure. She hated it so much she skipped breakfast and ran upstairs to pack her things. The lights in her room and down the hallway had lost their glamor. She sat over her bedsheets with tears streaming down her face.

Now she's stepping downstairs with her pack slung over her shoulder, her eyes never lifting above the tile floor.

She hears a voice down the steps, and her bones freeze.

"Hey, baby."

She quickens her pace and tries to rush past him, but he steps in her way.

"Hey, what's this all about? I had a blast, like Cloud 9 happy, why won't you look at me?" He grabbed her shoulder, "Look at me. Look at me, baby."

A burst of rage boiled up from her insides, "Fuck off." She shoved him aside and kept walking.

He called after her, "Oh, yeah, walk away skank! Get outta my casino! Yeah, fuck off!"

She leaves while the sun washes over the broken streets, her steps quick, eyes set forward, weapons thrown over her shoulder. Everything on the street's quiet, seemingly abandoned and bathed in yellow. She turns the rusty switch on her radio and it crackles quietly into life as she passes through Freeside.

Dust stirs under the wires weaving the North gate when she approaches as if the restless wasteland were seeping through to peek inside. She kicks the dust as if it were a naughty dog and grunts as she pulls the lock and opens the gates. The wasteland hissed and flew in with the rising breeze. As she closed the gate behind her and stepped into the sand-ridden road, it wrung round and round her ankles and followed her the way down while she kept trying to kick it away. Plants and rocks, orange and red under the sunrise, sit and watch her enviously go past, the fading night watching from behind them.

Her eyes catch sight of footprints in the dust. Old ones, maybe from a day or two ago: the wind had mostly swept them away. Whoever it was is traveling solo, which is a bit strange. Going alone into the Mojave isn't very common, and most often very dangerous. She picks up the pace a little. She might happen by them on the way, dead or alive.

* * *

 **Once I update the other lines of story this'll be updated.**


	38. Chapter 35 &

**[Only read if you came from Chapter 28]**

* * *

The day brushes along as she continues on I-15. Her pack jingles with her steps and her breathing heavies as the heat rises with the afternoon. She was never a fan of traveling during the day: the sun is too piercingly hot and makes her sweat all over.

She's almost to Hunter's Farm now. When she draws closer to the old wagon out back, she catches sight of a lump on the ground with an empty sack next to it. It was a person sleeping in the shade, an empty Nuka-Cola bottle at his side. He had hair as black as ink and wore an old Kings outfit.

It was Fox, the man from the casino.

He stirs and she instantly hides behind a protruding rock about a hundred meters away to watch.

He rolls over and groans then continues sleeping.

The woman draws back into the shadow of the rock. This would be a good spot to set up camp.

Tonight, she's going to follow him. And she doesn't know why. Well, she was already following his footprints out here, but perhaps it's his striking jawline, his sharp green eyes, his rough gaze and smooth but dark voice that brought her here. There's not much excitement that goes on in the wasteland except for a few deathclaw showdowns. Those are fun, but this man was something special. Like a motion picture all on his own. How will he fare in the wastes? That, she would love to watch. If he's an actor, and the Mojave's the set, then she's the director.

She smiles at the thought and sets her pack down. She gathers some boxes of Sugar Bombs, her favorite wasteland snack, and opens a box. Sure, it was dry and stale cereal, but you could still taste the sweetness. That was something that barely ever deteriorated with time; sugar. She munches happily and gets comfy in the sand and the shade. She reaches into her bag and pulls out a good ol' bottle of Sunset Sarsaparilla and watches the small whisks of clouds brush across the sky.

Yes, tonight she will follow him. It'll sure be an exciting adventure. Perhaps he might get into some trouble with all those bark scorpions nesting near Hidden Valley, or have some fun with those monsters at Quarry Junction. Man, why the hell had he taken I-15 out here, though? This road was only for the bravest wastelanders. Perhaps he had no idea what he was doing. Perhaps was in for some real danger.

Or maybe he was just a sonuvabitch who didn't give two fucks.

She giggled, popped the cap off the bottle, and gave her cheers to the bright sunlight and the bristling cacti.

* * *

 **Once I update the other lines of story this'll** **be updated.**


	39. Chapter 36 (

**[Only read if you came from Chapter 29]**

* * *

The day brushes along as she continues on I-15. Her pack jingles with her steps and her breathing heavies as the heat rises with the afternoon. She was never a fan of traveling during the day: the sun is too piercingly hot.

She's almost to the Hunter's Farm now. When she draws closer to the old wagon out back, she catches sight of a lump on the ground with an empty sack next to it. It was a person sleeping in the shade, an empty Nuka-Cola bottle at his side. He had hair as black as ink and wore an old Kings outfit.

He stirs and she instantly hides behind a protruding rock about a hundred meters away to watch.

He rolls over and groans, then continues sleeping.

 _Now, who's this?_ She smiles and stares at the sleeping man. He sure was handsome. Gosh, she'd always had a thing for a bit of rough, unshaven stubble. And that hair...dark, like nighttime.

The woman draws back into the shadow of the rock. This would be a good spot to set up camp.

And tonight, she's going to follow him. And she doesn't know why. Well, she was already following his footprints out here, and there's not much excitement that goes on in the wasteland except for a few deathaw showdowns. Those get your blood pumping, but this man was something special. Like a motion picture all on his own. How will he fare in the wastes? That, she would love to watch. If he dies, so be it. But if he survives...She'd sure like to get to meet him.

She smiles at the thought and sets her pack down. She gathers some boxes of Sugar Bombs, her favorite wasteland snack, and opens a box. Sure, it was dry and stale cereal, but you could still taste the sweetness. That was something that barely ever deteriorated with time; sugar. She munches happily and gets comfy in the sand and the shade. She reaches into her bag and pulls out a good ol' bottle of Sunset Sarsaparilla and watches the small whisks of clouds brush across the sky.

Yes, tonight she will follow him. It'll sure be an exciting adventure. Perhaps he might get into some trouble with all those bark scorpions nesting near Hidden Valley, or have some fun with those monsters at Quarry Junction. Man, why the hell had he taken I-15 out here, though? This road was only for the bravest wastelanders. Perhaps he had no idea what he was doing. Perhaps was in for some real danger.

Or maybe he was just a sonuvabitch who didn't give two fucks.

She giggled, popped the cap off the bottle, and gave her cheers to the bright sunlight and the bristling cacti.

* * *

 **Once I update the other lines of story this'll be updated.**


	40. Chapter 37 -x

**[Only read if you came from Chapter 30]**

* * *

It's morning time. Fox's lips are dry and his stomach is empty. A few days in the Mojave really had him beaten to a pulp. No water, no food, scrapes on his knees and elbows, his head a hazy blur. A day or two before, he'd rationed a few bits and pieces from the Hunter's Farm, but those are now long gone. With his energy and pace at an all-time low, he's barely gotten past Vault 19. He's been following a small road that, according to a Freeside local, would eventually lead him to Goodsprings: That quiet little town everyone adored. He stopped by there once, a long time ago, when his father first brought him to New Vegas.

Dawn brings life to the desert and it's tumbleweeds, drawing long shadows across the rocky grounds. In the distance, he sees a few buildings glowing in the sunrise. A hopeful smile spreads across his face and he starts to quicken his pace.

As he enters the town, he sees figures resting under the shadows. There are more than one, perhaps five, all gathered on the porches of the wooden skeleton-like buildings.

Fox, though he has very little knowledge of the wastes, knows what a bunch of bad news looks like. His footsteps falter in the sandy road and he stands still for a moment, his weakness causing him to falter.

A gunshot whizzes past his head.

His instincts kick in immediately. He pulls out his revolvers and fires two rounds. Both hit their targets, but they barely flinch. Damn. Leather armor.

He dives behind remnants of a burnt down house and uses the charred walls as cover.

Bullets chip the edges. He hears footsteps approaching.

A woman with spiky hair and sharp knuckles comes running around the corner. "Filthy scavenger! Die, die! The Viper Gang rules all!"

Fox yells and crawls back as she throws her fists in his face and scrapes gashes across his cheeks. He quickly lifts the revolver and pulls the trigger. The air rains blood. Her head falls back into the dirt.

Fox has trouble getting back on his feet. His eyes are wide, his body covered in splatters of blood, his knees shaky and worn out.

Another shotgun blast throws planks of rotting wood three feet into the air.

Fox hastily reloads and listens to footsteps. One guy's still on the porch, a few others are sneaking round the back of another building just a few yards North of him.

He runs into the middle of the town and lifts his revolvers again. The man on the porch's head bursts over the walls. Fox headshots two others running towards him. Only one man left.

And they have the shotgun.

The blast has Fox's ears ringing and his left gut oozing blood. He falls into the sand and gasps for air, then catches sight of the man raising the shotgun again.

Fox's fingers grip his revolver again. He can see the man's eyes from here. Dark and unmerciful, insane. A void. These were the wastelanders corrupted by the apocalypse.

He shoots the man in the leg, chest, and face, and feels nothing but pity as the man topples to the ground and moves no more. Their eyes meet again, now both level with the ground. The dead man's eyes are still as blank as they were alive.

Fox takes a shaky breath and tries sitting up, but he's too weak. Instead, he crawls towards their encampment on the porch, hoping for some rations to last him through the night.

* * *

 **Once I update the other lines of story this'll be updated.**


	41. Chapter 38 -y

**[Only read if you came from Chapter 31]**

* * *

It's morning time. Fox's lips are dry and his stomach is empty. A few days in the Mojave really had him beaten to a pulp. No water, no food, scrapes on his knees and elbows, his head a hazy blur. A day or two before, he'd rationed a few bits and pieces from the Hunter's Farm, but those are now long gone. With his energy and pace at an all-time low, he's barely gotten past Vault 19. He's been following a small road that, according to a Freeside local, would eventually lead him to Goodsprings: That quiet little town everyone adored. He stopped by there once, a long time ago, when his father first brought him to New Vegas.

Dawn brings life to the desert and it's tumbleweeds, drawing long shadows across the rocky grounds. In the distance, he sees a few buildings glowing in the sunrise. A hopeful smile spreads across his face and he starts to quicken his pace.

As he enters the town, he sees figures resting under the shadows. There are more than one, perhaps five, all gathered on the porches of the wooden skeleton-like buildings.

Fox, though he has very little knowledge of the wastes, knows what a bunch of bad news looks like. His footsteps falter in the sandy road and he stands still for a moment, his weakness causing him to falter.

A gunshot whizzes past his head.

His instincts kick in immediately. He pulls out his revolvers and fires two rounds. Both hit their targets, but they barely flinch. Damn. Leather armor.

He dives behind remnants of a burnt down house and uses the charred walls as cover.

Bullets chip the edges. He hears footsteps approaching.

A woman with spiky hair and sharp knuckles comes running around the corner. "Filthy scavenger! Die, die! The Viper Gang rules all!"

Fox yells and crawls back as she throws her fists in his face and scrapes gashes across his cheeks. He quickly lifts the revolver and pulls the trigger. The air rains blood. Her head falls back into the dirt.

Fox has trouble getting back on his feet. His eyes are wide, his body covered in splatters of blood, his knees shaky and worn out.

Another shotgun blast throws planks of rotting wood three feet into the air.

Fox hastily reloads and listens to footsteps. One guy's still on the porch, a few others are sneaking round the back of another building just a few yards North of him.

He runs into the middle of the town and lifts his revolvers again. The man on the porch's head bursts over the walls. Fox headshots two others running towards him. Only one man left.

And they have the shotgun.

The blast has Fox's ears ringing and his left gut oozing blood. He falls into the sand and gasps for air, then catches sight of the man raising the shotgun again.

Fox's fingers grip his revolver again. He can see the man's eyes from here. Dark and unmerciful, insane. A void. These were the wastelanders corrupted by the apocalypse.

He shoots the man in the leg, chest, and face, and feels nothing but pity as the man topples to the ground and moves no more. Their eyes meet again, now both level with the ground. The dead man's eyes are still as blank as they were alive.

Fox takes a shaky breath and tries sitting up, but he's too weak. Instead, he crawls towards their encampment on the porch, hoping for some rations to last him through the night.

* * *

 **Once I update the other lines of story this'll be updated.**


	42. Chapter 39 ! CHOICE

**[Only read if you came from Chapter 32]**

* * *

She leads him into the shack and drops her bag on the floor.

"Thank God they have the windows boarded up. Keeps all that sun out."

"Yeah." Fox glances over the small room. There's only one bed. Its mattress is covered in dust, and there're no pillows.

"Where am I sleeping, exactly?"

She unpacks a combat knife and lays it on the bed. "Well, unless you wanna get close and comfortable, I'd sleep on the floor or somethin', cause I'm sleeping here no matter what." She chuckles. "Sorry, first come first serve, you know?"

Fox nods. He can tell she feels a little bad.

She starts rummaging through some crates and retrieves some dirty bed sheets and a pillow. "Ah, here's where they went. You can have 'em. I got my mattress."

Fox catches the bundle in his arms and starts organizing his nest of bed sheets on the floor.

The woman offers him some Sugar Bombs, and they both happily munch over some conversation. Fox notices that the girl won't stop glancing at him. "You're quite...dazzling for a Freesider." She hides her red cheeks behind the cereal box and laughs a little.

"Oh...Thanks."

* * *

 **CHOICE**

Flirt Back (Go to Chapter 40)

 _New Story Insignia!_ **! x**

Not Interested (Go to Chapter 41)

 _New Story Insignia!_ **! y**


	43. Chapter 40 ! x

**[Only read if you came from Chapter 39]**

 **You Picked: Flirt Back**

* * *

Fox walks over to sit in a wooden chair and feels his nerves coming on, so he lights another cigarette.

She watches him and her cheeks are still rose-red.

The smoke twirls out of his mouth. "And you're quite darling for a wastelander."

Her smile bursts into life. "Thank you." She starts unstrapping her heels, then pauses. "Where're you from, Fox? What's your story?"

He sits back. "Klamath, Southern Oregon." He sighs happily. "It was heaven there. My mother made us leave, though... See, she loved gambling. She and my dad were gecko hunters, and once they found a cave full of golden geckos—their pelts sell for a lot—she told us to grab the money and head to New Vegas. I was fifteen, then. A naive kid, followed wherever she wanted me to go. When we finally got there, she bought the nicest dress available and disappeared into The Strip, leaving my dad and I in Freeside with a few rusty caps. She was already a terrible gambler, lost all our hard-earned money to some stupid card games. She'd visit us sometimes, and tell us about how amazing the casino was. Told us she went to the Ultra Luxe... I joined the Kings once I turned eighteen. They felt bad for me because my mom somehow disappeared in the casino one night, and my dad was killed by a thug. So The King took me in. Found me useful."

"Awe." She leans forward and caresses his back a little. "And now you ain't even a King. I'm sorry all that's happened." She leans back on the bed.

Fox shrugs, "It's fine. I'm not too sad about it. Not about my mom, at least. I miss my dad a little, though. It happens to a lot of people around here."

"Well, if it makes you feel better," she smiles even more, "I think you're wonderful."

Now she's started to take her dress off and Fox has trouble keeping his eyes occupied with the cigarette in his hands. He flicks it into an ashtray. "You're undressing here?"

She looks up at him after pulling the silk pink sleepwear over her head, "Oh? Sorry. Are you not used to it? Happens all the time when you bunk up with a wastelander. One minute you're gutting mole rats and the next you're butt-naked with your junk out cleaning your clothes off in a pail of water. Plus, it's nighttime. Loosen up, we're in Goodsprings. No need to sleep all ready and ramblin'."

Fox gets up from the chair, laughing a little, "Alright, alright."

She lays on her side and watches him settle into the soft covers on the floor. "What, you're gonna sleep in that?" She asks.

"Yeah, lady. I'm not a crazy wastelander, you kidding me?"

"Oh, come on. What about you just lose the shirt?"

"You trying to get me to strip for you?"

"Just the shirt, come on. You jus' look so uptight. Really, you gotta loosen up. I won't be able to sleep with you lookin' so high-strung."

"Fine, fine." He pulls the white shirt over his head and leaves it in the pile of bedsheets.

The woman turns a little pink this time.

They share a smile for a moment, then both turn over on their sides and close their eyes, wild thoughts circling through and through.

* * *

 **Once I update the other line of story this'll be updated.**


	44. Chapter 41 ! y

**[Only read if you came from Chapter 39]**

 **You Picked: Not Interested**

* * *

Fox walks over to sit in a wooden chair and feels his nerves coming on, so he lights another cigarette.

She watches him and her cheeks are still rose-red.

The smoke twirls out of his mouth. "Uh, well..." He tries changing the subject. The woman's nice, but...he isn't really the type interested in girls. "What's the plan for tomorrow?"

Her smile falls. "Oh...Well, I was, uh, thinking we'd go to Quarry Junction. You'll find it real interesting there." She starts smiling again as if she'd forgotten the awkwardness already. "It'll be real fun. This is my third trip there, I think. You can borrow my NCR ranger armor. It's got a real cool leather coat that comes with it, and the helmet's got some 'built-in, low-light optics'—at least that's what the guy at the safehouse told me. God, he was a bore."

Fox smiles, too. "Oh, awesome. That sounds great. But...why would I need the armor again?"

"Ah, don't worry about it, you'll be fine."

Fox raises an eyebrow. And before he can say anything more, the woman asks: "So, where're you from, Fox? What's your story?"

"Oh, uh, I'm from Klamath, Southern Oregon." He takes another drag of his cigarette and stares at the lightbulb hanging from the ceiling. "...It was heaven there, I gotta admit. My mother made us leave, though... See, she loved gambling. She and my dad were gecko hunters, and once they found a cave full of golden geckos—their pelts sell for a lot—she told us to grab the money and head to New Vegas. I was fifteen, then. A naive kid, followed wherever she wanted me to go. When we finally got there, she bought the nicest dress available and disappeared into The Strip, leaving my dad and me in Freeside with a few rusty caps. She was already a terrible gambler, lost all our hard-earned money to some stupid card games. She'd visit us sometimes, and tell us about how amazing the casino was. Told us she went to the Ultra-Luxe... I joined the Kings once I turned eighteen. They felt bad for me because my mom somehow disappeared in the casino one night, and my dad was killed by a thug. So The King took me in. Found me useful."

"Awe." She leans forward and lays a hand of his shoulder. "And now you ain't even a King. I'm sorry all that's happened."

Fox shrugs, "It's fine. I'm not too sad about it. Not about my mom, at least. I miss my dad a little, though. It happens to a lot of people around here."

She nods solemnly and starts unstrapping her heels, then starts undressing.

Fox keeps his eyes occupied with the cigarette in his hands. "You're undressing here?"

She looks up at him after pulling the silk pink sleepwear over her head, "Oh? Sorry. Are you not used to it? Happens all the time when you bunk up with a wastelander. One minute you're gutting mole rats and the next you're butt-naked with your junk out cleaning your clothes off in a pail of water. Plus, it's nighttime. Loosen up, we're in Goodsprings. No need to sleep all ready and ramblin'."

Fox gets up from the chair, laughing a little, "Alright, alright."

She lays on her side and watches him settle into the soft covers on the floor.

"Is it comfortable enough?" she asks.

"Oh, yea. It's fine. Thanks." He smiles, "Question is, are you comfortable? That bed looks like a rock."

She yawns, "Naw, it's great. Well, goodnight."

"Goodnight."

They share a smile for a moment, then both turn on their sides and close their eyes.

* * *

 **Once I update the other lines of story this'll be updated.**


	45. Chapter 42 ? CHOICE

**[Only read if you came from Chapter 33]**

* * *

She leads him into the shack and drops her bag on the floor.

"Thank God they have the windows boarded up. Keeps all that sun out."

"Yeah." Fox glances over the small room. There's only one bed. Its mattress is covered in dust, and there're no pillows.

"Where am I sleeping, exactly?"

She unpacks a combat knife and lays it on the bed. "Sleep on the floor or somethin'. I'm sleeping here no matter what." She chuckles. "First come first serve."

Fox nods. "Got it."

She starts rummaging through some crates and retrieves some dirty bed sheets and a pillow. "Ah, here's where they went. You can have 'em. I got my mattress."

Fox catches the bundle in his arms and starts organizing his nest of bed sheets on the floor.

The woman offers him some Sugar Bombs, and they both happily munch over some conversation. Fox notices that the girl won't stop staring at him. "You're quite...dazzling for a Freesider, you know that?" She turns red and looks away.

"Oh...Thanks."

* * *

 **CHOICE**

Flirt Back (Go to Chapter 43)

 _New Story Insignia!_ **? x**

Not Interested (Go to Chapter 44)

 _New Story Insignia!_ **? y**


	46. Chapter 43 ? x

**[Only read if you came from Chapter 42]**

 **You Picked: Flirt Back**

* * *

Fox walks over to sit in a wooden chair and feels his nerves coming on, so he lights another cigarette.

She finally gathers the courage to look him in the eye.

The smoke twirls out of his mouth. "And you're quite darling for a wastelander."

Her smile bursts into life. "Thank you." She starts unstrapping her heels, then pauses. "Where're you from, Fox? What's your story?"

He sits back. "Klamath, Southern Oregon." He sighs happily. "It was heaven there. My mother made us leave, though... See, she loved gambling. She and my dad were gecko hunters, and once they found a cave full of golden geckos—their pelts sell for a lot—she told us to grab the money and head to New Vegas. I was fifteen, then. A naive kid, followed wherever she wanted me to go. When we finally got there, she bought the nicest dress available and disappeared into The Strip, leaving my dad and me in Freeside with a few rusty caps. She was already a terrible gambler, lost all our hard-earned money to some stupid card games. She'd visit us sometimes, and tell us about how amazing the casino was. Told us she went to the Ultra-Luxe... I joined the Kings once I turned eighteen. They felt bad for me because my mom somehow disappeared in the casino one night, and my dad was killed by a thug. So The King took me in. Found me useful."

"Hm. And now you ain't even a King. I'm sorry all that's happened." She leans back on the bed.

Fox shrugs, "It's fine. I'm not too sad about it. Not about my mom, at least. I miss my dad a little, though. It happens to a lot of people around here."

"Well, if it makes you feel better, I think you're wonderful."

Now she's started to take her dress off, and Fox has trouble keeping his eyes occupied with the cigarette in his hands. He flicks it into an ashtray. "You're undressing here?"

She looks up at him after pulling the silk pink sleepwear over her head. "Oh? Are you not used to it? Happens all the time when you bunk up with a wastelander. One minute you're gutting mole rats and the next you're butt-naked with your junk out cleaning your clothes off in a pail of water. Plus, it's nighttime. Loosen up, we're in Goodsprings. No need to sleep all ready and ramblin'."

Fox gets up from the chair, laughing a little, "Alright, alright."

She lays on her side and watches him settle into the soft covers on the floor. "What, you're gonna sleep in that?"

"Yeah, lady. I'm not a crazy wastelander, you kidding me?"

"Oh, come on. What about you just lose the shirt?"

"You trying to get me to strip for you?"

"Just the shirt, come on. You jus' look so uptight. Really, you gotta loosen up. I won't be able to sleep with you lookin' so high-strung."

"Fine, fine." He pulls the white shirt over his head and leaves it in the pile of bedsheets.

The woman turns a little pink this time.

They both turn over on their sides and close their eyes, wild thoughts circling through and through.

* * *

 **Once I update the other lines of story this'll be updated.**


	47. Chapter 44 ? y

**[Only read if you came from Chapter 42]**

 **You Picked: Not Interested**

* * *

Fox walks over to sit in a wooden chair and feels his nerves coming on, so he lights another cigarette.

She finally gathers the courage to look him in the eye.

The smoke twirls out of his mouth. "Uh, well..." He tries changing the subject. The woman's nice, but...he isn't really the type interested in girls. "What's the plan for tomorrow?"

Her face darkens a little, and for a moment, Fox's scared she might just pull a knife on him.

"Oh...Well, I was, uh, thinking we'd go to Quarry Junction. You'll find it real interesting there." She starts smiling again as if she'd forgotten the awkwardness already. "It'll be real fun. This is my third trip there, I think. You can borrow my NCR ranger armor. It's got a real cool leather coat that comes with it, and the helmet's got some 'built-in, low-light optics'—at least that's what the guy at the safehouse told me. God, he was a bore."

Fox smiles, too. "Oh, awesome. That sounds great. But...why would I need the armor again?"

"Ah, don't worry about it, you'll be fine."

Fox raises an eyebrow. And before he can say anything more, the woman asks: "So, where're you from, Fox? What's your story?"

"Oh, uh, I'm from Klamath, Southern Oregon." He takes another drag of his cigarette and stares at the lightbulb hanging from the ceiling. "...It was heaven there, I gotta admit. My mother made us leave, though... See, she loved gambling. She and my dad were gecko hunters, and once they found a cave full of golden geckos—their pelts sell for a lot—she told us to grab the money and head to New Vegas. I was fifteen, then. A naive kid, followed wherever she wanted me to go. When we finally got there, she bought the nicest dress available and disappeared into The Strip, leaving my dad and me in Freeside with a few rusty caps. She was already a terrible gambler, lost all our hard-earned money to some stupid card games. She'd visit us sometimes, and tell us about how amazing the casino was. Told us she went to the Ultra-Luxe... I joined the Kings once I turned eighteen. They felt bad for me because my mom somehow disappeared in the casino one night, and my dad was killed by a thug. So The King took me in. Found me useful."

"Hm. And now you ain't even a King. I'm sorry all that's happened."

Fox shrugs, "It's fine. I'm not too sad about it. Not about my mom, at least. I miss my dad a little, though. It happens to a lot of people around here."

She nods solemnly and starts unstrapping her heels, then starts undressing.

Fox keeps his eyes occupied with the cigarette in his hands. "You're undressing here?"

She looks up at him after pulling the silk pink sleepwear over her head. "Oh? Are you not used to it? Happens all the time when you bunk up with a wastelander. One minute you're gutting mole rats and the next you're butt-naked with your junk out cleaning your clothes off in a pail of water. Plus, it's nighttime. Loosen up, we're in Goodsprings. No need to sleep all ready and ramblin'."

Fox gets up from the chair, laughing a little. "Alright, alright."

She lays on her side and watches him settle into the soft covers on the floor.

"Well...goodnight."

"Goodnight."

They both turn on their sides and close their eyes, the silence of the wastes lulling them to sleep.

* * *

 **Once I update the other lines of story this'll be updated.**


End file.
